^MEMOIRS 

HMH 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
EDWIN  CORLE 

PRESENTED  BY 
JEAN  CORLE 


ENGLISH    POETS. 

TWELVE    ESSAYS 


BY 


JOSEPH    GOSTWICK, 

Author  of  the  Handbooks,  "  German  Literature"  and  "American 
Literature,"  "  German  Poets" 


WITH   TWELVE  PORTRAITS. 


D.     APPLETON     AND     CO. 

NEW  YORK. 


Entered according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  Hie  year  1875,  by 

STROEFER  AND  KIRCHNER, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


lOOKS  COURT,  CHANCERY  LANE. 


ENGLISH    POETS. 

INTRODUCTION. 

T  is  obvious  that  complete  biographies  of 
twelve  poets,  with  analyses  of  all  their  writ- 
ings, cannot  be  given  in  a  volume  like  the 
present.  The  limits  of  the  work  must  pre- 
scribe the  author's  plan.  With  all  the  reverence  due 
to  men  of  poetic  genius,  he  would  endeavour  to  describe 
their  chief  characteristics,  and  would  add  a  few  words 
respecting  the  tendencies  of  their  writings. 

A  brief  introductory  essay  is  given  for  the  purpose  of 
showing  that  the  theory  of  poetry  maintained  or  implied 
in  the  following  memoirs  and  essays  is  neither  arbitrary 
nor  narrow. 

POETRY  is  a  word  having  a  wider  and  a  closer  meaning. 
How  extensive  must  be  the  general  notion  that  includes 
the  writings  of  SHAKESPEARE  and  MILTON,  POPE  and 
B 


2030416 


2  ENGLISH   POETS. 

BURNS,  CRABBE  and  WORDSWORTH  !  All  these  writers 
are  called  poets.  To  all  belong  more  or  less  the  traits — 
vivid  imagination,  sympathy,  wit,  humour,  command  of 
language  and  love  of  harmony  in  verse.  But  all  these 
qualities,  except  the  last,  may  be  found  in  the  form  of 
prose.  ADDISON'S  "Roger  de  Coverley,"  in  prose,  is 
more  genial  and  imaginative  than  his  "  Cato  "  in  blank 
verse.  Sir  WALTER  SCOTT'S  novels  and  romances,  in 
prose,  are  more  richly  imaginative  than  his  metrical 
poetry.  JEREMY  TAYLOR  and  Sir  THOMAS  BROWNE 
are  poets,  and  IRVING  and  HAWTHORNE  may  be  classed 
with  the  poets  of  America.  It  may,  therefore,  for  a 
moment  appear  that  verse  is  but  an  accidental  form  of 
some  writings  called  poetry,  and  that — suppressing  the 
formal  distinction  of  verse  and  prose — creative  or  poetical 
writers  may  be  well  classified  with  a  view  to  their  more 
important  characteristics  ;  their  thoughts,  sympathies, 
and  tendencies.  For,  putting  aside  their  verse-writing, 
there  is  hardly  one  characteristic  of  the  men  commonly 
called  poets  that  may  not  be  found  in  prose-writers. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that  two  men  write  in  verse 
serves  of  itself  to  indicate  but  a  superficial  likeness. 
Though  SWIFT  wrote  verses  and  SHELLEY  wrote  verses, 
what  concord  had  one  with  the  other  ? 

After  all,  it  remains  true  that,  in  popular  language,  a 
poet  means  a  man  who  writes  with  imaginative  and 
emotional  power,  and  who  writes  well  in  verse.  And 
there  are  good  reasons  for  this  closer  definition.  For, 


IN  TROD  UC  TION.  3 

while  it  is  true  that  the  talent  of  making  verses  may 
exist  apart  from  poetical  genius,  it  is  also  true  that 
poets  of  the  highest  order  have  mostly  chosen  verse  as 
their  own  natural  form  of  expression.  If  we  ask  "  why?" 
the  answer  will  be  found  in  the  closer  or  higher  meaning 
of  the  word  Poetry. 

Accepting  that  word  in  its  higher  sense,  we  would  not 
attempt  to  give  a  formal  definition,  but  would,  in  the 
first  place,  follow  COLERIDGE  and  WORDSWORTH  in 
saying :  "  Poetry  is  the  opposite,  not  of  prose,  but  of 
science."  If  there  is  one  word  that  may  indicate  the 
nature  of  that  which  we  would  call  the  essence,  the 
spirit  of  poetry,  that  one  word  is  Union.  A  theory 
founded  on  this  general  notion  can  hardly  be  called 
narrow  or  arbitrary,  when  it  is  found  in  accordance  with 
the  theory  held  by  WORDSWORTH,  the  poet,  and  by 
FRANCIS  JEFFREY,  the  critic ;  when  we  find  MACAULAY 
• — no  mystical  writer — taking  the  same  view  of  poetry, 
and,  accordingly,  placing  SHELLEY  far  above  crowds  of 
other  men  called  poets.  To  justify  fully  our  view  of 
the  one  essential  power  that  makes  high  poetry,  it  would 
be  requisite  to  give  the  best  analysis  of  poetry  ever 
written  in  English  ;  in  other  words,  we  must  quote  some 
pages  from  WORDSWORTH'S  essays  called  "prefaces," 
and  lately  re-published.  But,  for  the  sake  of  brevity, 
the  words  of  the  critic,  JEFFREY,  may  be  given  : — "  It 
has  always  been  our  opinion,"  he  says,  "that  the  real 
essence  of  poetry — apart  from  the  pathos,  the  wit,  or 


4  ENGLISH  POETS. 

the  brilliant  description  which  may  be  embodied  in  it, 
but  may  equally  exist  in  prose — consists  in  the  fine 
perception,  the  vivid  expression  of  that  subtle  and 
mysterious  analogy  which  exists  between  the  physical 
and  the  moral  world,  which  makes  outward  things  and 
qualities  the  natural  types  and  emblems  of  inward  gifts 
and  emotions,  and  leads  us  to  ascribe  life  and  sentiment 
to  everything  that  interests  us  in  the  aspect  of  external 
nature."  This  definition  is  true  as  far  as  it  goes,  but 
does  not  include  all  that  may  be  said  of  unitive,  or  poetic, 
genius.  A  definition,  more  concise,  yet  more  comprehen- 
sive, is  given  by  CHARLES  LAMB.  He  describes  poetical 
imagination  as  "  the  power  that  draws  all  things  to  one ; 
which  makes  things  animate  and  inanimate,  beings  with 
their  attributes,  subjects  with  their  accessories;  take  one 
colour  and  serve  to  one  effect."  The  purest  and  highest 
poetry  knows  nothing  of  the  hard  lines,  divisions,  and 
abstractions  of  science  ;  but  takes  for  granted  a  union 
of  the  real  with  the  ideal ;  of  the  past  with  the  present 
and  the  future  ;  of  the  mind  with  the  surrounding  world. 
For  the  poet,  outward  signs  are  the  words  of  one  all- 
pervading  mind  ;  all  nature  lives,  thinks,  and  feels ;  stars, 
rivers,  flowers,  trees — yea,  rocks  and  old  stony  ruins  are 
his  friends.  He  can  call  up  emotion  from  the  depth  of 
calm,  and  can  make  all  the  passions  excited  by  tragedy 
lead  to  a  subjugation  of  the  will,  and  end  in  the  repose 
of  resignation.  He  can  find  a  "joy  in  grief,"  and  can 
transmute  faded  sorrows  into  "pleasures  of  memory." 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

The  question,  "  whence  come  metres  and  rhymed  or 
unrhymed  verses  ? "  is  already  answered.  The  expression 
must  accord  with  the  meaning  ;  the  form  must  be  united 
with  the  idea.  If  the  essence  of  the  purest  poetry  is 
union,  or  harmony,  then  the  language  of  poetry  must  be 
harmonious.  "  Verse,"  says  an  essayist,  "  is  necessary 
to  the  form  of  poetry  "  [in  its  higher  definition] ;  "  the 
perfection  of  the  poetical  spirit  demands  it ;  the  circle  of 
its  enthusiasm,  beauty,  and  power  is  incomplete  without 
it.  Verse  is  the  final  proof  to  the  poet  that  his  mastery 
over  his  art  is  complete.  Poetry,  in  its  complete 
sympathy  with  beauty,  must  leave  no  sense  of  the 
beautiful,  and  no  power  over  its  forms  unmanifested." 

It  may  be  said,  that  these  characteristics,  here  noticed 
as  belonging  to  the  higher  poetry,  are  by  no  means 
found  everywhere,  even  in  the  writings  of  true  poets. 
True  ;  for  poetry  must  have  variety  and  contrast.  The 
greatest  poets  write,  only  here  and  there,  in  their  highest 
strain  of  inspiration ;  some  parts  of  their  works  may 
include  graphic  descriptions  of  facts  as  they  are,  or  may 
contain  traits  of  wit  and  humour,  or  moral  maxims,  or 
meditative  passages.  Many  pages  in  WORDSWORTH'S 
writings  may  be  fairly  described  as  consisting  of  sermons 
in  verse.  CRABBE  could  write  poetry ;  but  his  mind 
was  so  closely  engaged  with  life's  sad  realities — as  seen 
in  workhouses,  prisons,  and  "  the  huts  where  poor  men 
lie," — that  he  often  seemed  forgetful  of  all  poetry.  In 
COWPER  an  earnest  desire  to  teach  often  suppressed,  or 


6  ENGLISH  POETS. 

held  in  strict  control,  the  poet's  imagination.  In  a  word 
— it  does  not  follow,  because  a  man  is  a  poet,  that  he  is 
to  be  nothing  more  than  a  poet. 

Poetry  has,  of  course,  relationship  with  the  sister  arts, 
music  and  painting.  In  metre  and  rhyme  a  peculiar 
melody,  distinct  from  singing,  is  supplied.  There  are 
comparatively  few  poems  well  adapted  to  be  set  to 
music;  but  many  poems  have  their  own  melody,  and, 
when  well  read  aloud  by  a  sympathetic  voice,  want  no 
accompaniment.  The  minute  gradations  of  a  fine  read- 
ing voice  have  shades  of  expression  that  cannot  be  given 
by  any  arrangement  of  tones  and  semitones  in  the 
diatonic  scale. 

The  definition  that  calls  poetry  "a  kind  of  painting 
in  words"  has  been  already  condemned  by  LESSING, 
one  of  the  best  of  critics.  Poetry,  he  tells  us,  does  not 
consist  in  exact  portraiture.  Why  should  the  artist, 
whose  means  of  expression  are  words,  attempt  to  do  the 
work  that  may  be  done  better  by  a  painter  ?  Each  of 
the  fine  arts  has  its  own  special  bounds.  In  painting, 
harmony  is  displayed  in  space  ;  in  poetry,  as  in  music, 
a  succession  of  time  is  required.  Painting  sets  before  us 
forms,  colours,  and  expressions,  of  which  the  general 
harmony  may  be  seen  and  felt  in  a  moment.  In  narra- 
tive poetry,  a  succession  of  pictures  may  be  suggested  by 
words  ;  but  the  pictures  must  be  only  passingly  named, 
as  scenery  is  noticed  by  a  traveller  still  proceeding  on 
his  journey.  To  this  rule  some  exceptions  may  be  found 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

in  the  writings  of  great  poets.  For  example,  in 
SHELLEY'S  "Alastor"  may  be  found  an  elaborate  de- 
scription of  forest  scenery ;  but  let  it  be  noticed  that  the 
tone  of  the  passage  accords  well  with  the  preceding  and 
the  following  narrative,  and  that  personal  sentiment  is 
intimately  blended  with  the  whole  description.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  examples  that  might  be  given  to  confirm 
our  theory  of  poetry  are  abundant.  Men  who  have  no 
care  for  any  formal  definitions  can  see  and  feel,  in  a 
moment,  that  there  is  no  poetry  in  the  following  lines, 
written  by  a  dry  versifier  who  made  rhymes  in  the 
seventeenth  century  : — 

"  Twenty-four  miles  surveyors  do  account 
Between  the  eastern  and  the  western  mount. 
Hither  the  eagles  fly  and — lay  their  eggs." 

This  is  a  part  of  a  description  of  two  mountains.  To 
find  a  contrast,  we  may  open  one  of  WORDSWORTH'S 
volumes  anywhere,  so  that  we  avoid  his  didactic  verses. 
By  accident,  we  turn  to  some  lines — not  remarkably 
good — addressed  to  a  ruined  castle,  standing  near  Loch 
Awe,  with  a  mountain  and  a  torrent  in  the  back- 
ground : — 

"  The  mountain  stream 
Roars  in  thy  hearing  ;  but  thy  hour  of  rest 
Is  come,  and  thou  art  silent  in  thy  age." 

Here  the  gray  old  pile  is  alive  and  thinks.  It  had  a 
loud  and  stormy  youth  in  ancient  and  warlike  times,  and 
now  it  has  a  serene  old  age.  A  human  interest  is  thus 


8  ENGLISH  POETS. 

given  to  the  castle.  To  find  other  examples  of  poetic 
and  unitive  imagination,  we  might  refer  to  the  two  beauti- 
ful elegies — "  Lycidas,"  by  MlLTON,  and  "  Adonais,"  by 
SHELLEY  ;  or,  for  bolder  expressions,  we  might  turn  to  a 
passage  of  Hebrew  poetry,  where  "  fir-trees  "  and  "  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon  "  blend  their  voices,  while  the  dead 
are  called  up  from  their  graves,  that  they  may  unite  in 
a  song  of  triumph  over  a  fallen  oppressor.  From  this 
sublime  example  of  lyric  enthusiasm  we  might  turn  to 
tales  of  fairy-land  and  other  stories  for  childhood,  and 
here  might  find  the  spirit  of  poetry  expressing  itself  in 
playful  forms.  When  all  human  tongues  are  silent,  "  a 
bird  in  the  forest  brings  to  light  the  cruelty  of  a  step- 
mother." To  rebuke  avarice,  "  a  fountain  refuses  to 
flow."  The  kindness  of  a  child  is  recognized  and  is  well 
rewarded,  not  only  by  an  angel,  but  also  "  by  a  bird,  a 
fish,  and  a  rivulet !  "  This  is  playful  fiction,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  it  is  true  poetry. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  an  enumeration  of  all  the 
forms  in  which  the  general  idea  of  union  finds  poetic  ex- 
pressions ;  but  we  may  briefly  divide  them  into  two 
classes,  and  for  this  purpose  may  employ,  with  distinct 
meanings,  the  two  words  "  Imagination  "  and  "  Fancy." 
The  former  may  be  used  to  denote  every  union  of  ideas 
that  may  be  accepted  as  natural  or  possible,  or  as  having 
some  ground  in  faith  or  in  earnest  emotion.  As  exer- 
cises of  Fancy  we  may  treat  all  light,  accidental,  or  arbi- 
trary associations  of  ideas.  Imagination  gives  birth  to 


INTRODUCTION.  9 

profound  thoughts  of  union.  Fancy  is  pleased  with 
shallow  analogies.  Imagination  may  harmonize  well 
with  religious  belief  or  with  bold  speculation.  Fancy 
may  excite  a  smile.  Imagination  may  become  formidable 
or  may  assert  its  dominion  over  the  mind.  Imagination 
is  earnest  Fancy  is  playful.  For  one  example  of  ima- 
ginative power  we  may  turn  to  a  well-known  passage  in 
SHAKESPEARE'S  marvellous  play,  "  The  Tempest"  Here 
all  the  pageants  of  a  masque — "  a  most  majestic  vision  " 
— fade  away  as  clouds,  and  "leave  not  a  rack  behind;" 
and  so,  says  the  poet, 

"  The  cloud-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve 
And — like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded — 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind." 

Here  all  things  that  men  usually  call  realities  are 
likened  to  dreams,"  "  pageants,"  and  mere  shows  !  This 
bringing  together  of  two  opposite  classes  of  objects  is 
bold  and  earnest ;  it  accords  well  with,  at  least,  one  in- 
terpretation of  a  creed  held  by  millions,  and  it  is  closely 
connected  with  premonitions  by  which  the  souls  of  men 
have  often  been  disturbed.  This  is  an  example  of  earnest 
and  profound  imagination. 

To  find  a  specimen  of  Fancy's  power  we  may  turn  to  one 
of  WORDSWORTH'S  several  addresses  "  To  the  Daisy  : " 
"  A  little  Cyclops  !  with  one  eye 
Staring,  to  threaten  and  defy, 
That  thought  comes  next — and  instantly 
The  freak  is  over, 
C 


io  ENGLISH  POETS. 

The  shape  will  vanish — and  behold  ! 
A  silver  shield,  with  boss  of  gold, 
That  spreads  itself,  some  faery  bold 
In  fight  to  cover." 

Here  the  likenesses  supposed  to  exist  are  slight  and 
evanescent,  and  may  be  even  called — wilful.  They  have 
no  basis  in  earnest  feeling,  such  as  may  be  found  in 
another  passage  here  given  as  a  noble  example  of  ima- 
ginative power.  The  poet,  travelling  in  Italy,  sees  the 
marble  statues  on  the  cathedral  of  Milan,  and  afterwards 
he  is  sailing  on  a  lake  when  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  (1820) 
takes  place.  The  darkening  billows  remind  him  of  the 
shadow  passing  over  the  faces  of  the  marble  angels  at 

Milan : 

"  All  steeped  in  this  portentous  light ! 
All  suffering  dim  eclipse  ! " 

Then  follows  this  bolder  expression  of  imaginative 

power : 

"  Thus,  after  man  had  fallen — if  aught 
These  perishable  spheres  have  wrought 
May  with  that  issue  be  compared — 
Throngs  of  celestial  visages, 
Darkening,  like  water  in  the  breeze, 
A  holy  sadness  shared." 

So  far  the  essence — the  master  idea — of  poetry  has 
been  described.  But  an  idea  must  be  developed  and 
embodied.  The  means  for  its  incorporation  are  found  in 
studies  of  nature,  and  of  human  life  in  union  with  nature. 
On  his  mastery  of  these  studies  depends  our  estimate  of 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  1 1 

a  poet,  with  respect  to  his  greatness  or  his  grasp  of  the 
materials  required  for  the  expansion  of  poetic  power. 
A  poet's  genius  may  be  true  in  its  kind,  but  may,  at  the 
same  time,  be  small  in  evolution.  Though  it  seems  un- 
fair to  compare  any  poet  with  SHAKESPEARE,  we  may, 
for  the  sake  of  clear  illustration,  point  to  the  distance 
existing  between  our  greatest  poet  and  the  lively  fabulist, 
JOHN  GAY.  So  vast  was  the  evolution  of  SHAKESPEARE'S 
genius,  that  the  hundreds  of  volumes  already  written 
hardly  suffice  for  its  analysis.  But  a  few  pages  might 
give  a  fair  estimate  of  all  the  poetic  work  of  GAY,  and 
the  same  remark  might  be  applied  to  many  writers  who, 
in  their  several  small  spheres,  have  displayed  some  poetic 
powers. 

Human  life,  viewed  as  a  whole,  and  with  respect  to 
the  past,  the  present,  and  the  future,  is  the  chief  theme 
of  poetry.  History — though  lately  expanded  by  union 
with  the  spirit  of  poetry — has  too  often  treated  men  as 
if  they  were  machines,  urged  on  by  external  forces. 
The  poet  should  be  the  historian's  companion,  and  should 
do  more  than  the  historian  can  do.  While  the  latter 
notices  the  bodies  of  events,  the  former  tells  of  the  spirit 
that  moves  them.  The  historian  describes  the  outward 
life  and  records  facts  ;  the  poet  reveals  feelings,  thoughts, 
hopes,  desires — the  germs  of  far-distant  events.  The 
historian  tells  us  what  man  has  been ;  the  poet  shows, 
either  in  dreams  of  the  past  or  in  visions  of  the  future, 
what  man  may  be.  To  the  poet,  fulfilling  the  duties  here 


12  ENGLISH   POETS, 

named,  the  praise  awarded  by  WORDSWORTH  belongs  : 
"  He  is  the  rock  of  defence  for  human  nature,  an  up- 
holder and  preserver,  carrying  everywhere  with  him  re- 
lationship and  love.  In  spite  of  difference  of  soil  and 
climate,  of  language  and  manners,  of  laws  and  customs, 
in  spite  of  things  silently  gone  out  of  mind,  and  things 
violently  destroyed,  the  poet  binds  together,  by  passion 
and  knowledge,  the  vast  empire  of  human  society  as  it  is 
spread  over  the  whole  earth  and  over  all  time." 

It  is  obvious  that  all  this  praise  cannot  be  fairly 
awarded  to  every  writer  of  poetry,  and  cannot  have  refer- 
ence to  every  passage  found  in  the  greatest  of  poets. 
In  the  ideal,  as  in  the  real  world,  are  found  day  and 
night,  beauty  and  deformity,  harmony  and  discord.  But 
who  can  doubt  that  goodness,  kindness,  and  expansive 
sympathy  are  the  master-tones  and  the  general  tenden- 
cies of  such  poets  as  SHAKESPEARE  and  SIR  WALTER 
SCOTT  ?  Have  writers  of  their  order  ever  separated 
classes  in  society  one  from  another,  or  divided  men  into 
narrow  sects,  or  taught  them  to  hate  one  another  ?  Is 
teaching,  by  means  of  poetry,  to  be  called  ineffectual,  be- 
cause it  is  indirect  and  not  dogmatic  ?  Is  not  influence 
deeper  and  stronger  than  precept  ? 

Good  or  bad  moral  influence  may  be  ascribed  to  an 
imaginative  work.  But  it  is  not  the  poet's  duty  to  give 
directly  instruction  in  faith  or  in  morals.  He  may, 
sometimes,  wander  away  from  poetry,  and  write  sermons 
in  rhyme  or  in  blank  verse ;  but  in  such  instances  he 


IN  TR  ODUC  T1ON.  \  3 

trespasses  upon  ground  that  strictly  belongs  to  others. 
Poems  are  not  didactic  essays.  But,  as  all  things  good, 
true,  and  beautiful,  live  naturally  in  union,  a  compre- 
hensive survey  of  poetical  literature,  from  HOMER'S  time 
to  our  own,  will  show  that  the  tones  of  true  poetry  accord 
well,  on  the  whole,  with  the  best  culture,  the  purest  faith, 
the  highest  hopes  of  mankind.  Caution  is  always  re- 
quired when  we  speak  of  the  control  that  intellect,  in  any 
form  of  manifestation,  may  exert  over  the  crude  passions 
of  men.  So  far  are  men  governed  by  their  stubborn 
habits  and  their  physical  wants,  that  the  progress  of 
good  teaching — direct  or  indirect — must  be  slow.  But 
the  predictions  uttered  and  the  hopes  excited  by  seers 
and  poets  are  not  altogether  barren  and  deluding,  though 
they  may  have  to  wait  long  for  their  fulfilment.  After 
all  the  failures  of  so  many  hundred  years,  millions  still 
cherish  the  hope  that  the  fair  visions  of  our  purest  poetry 
may  gradually  shine  forth  out  of  literature  into  life, 
and  make  the  world  all  around  us  brighter  and  more 
beautiful. 

Has  too  much  been  said  of  the  good  influence  of 
poetry  ?  Let  us  turn  over  slowly  the  pages  of  some 
volumes  containing  selections  from  the  works  of  English 
poets.  Where  shall  we  find  so  many  expressions  of 
kindness  flowing  forth  towards  man  and  the  whole  ani- 
mated world  ?  Where  so  many  noble  thoughts  of  free- 
dom and  contentment  ?  Where  so  little  of  that  hateful 
and  destructive  principle — bigotry  ?  In  poetical  litera- 


I4  ENGLISH  POETS. 

ture  we  find,  of  course,  as  in  social  and  political  history, 
the  duality  that  belongs  to  human  nature — darkness  as 
well  as  light — and,  if  we  search  diligently  for  errors  and 
vices,  we  shall  not  fail  to  find  them  in  abundance,  es- 
pecially in  dramatic  poetry.  Here  it  is  always  to  be 
remembered  that  a  work  of  art — above  all,  a  drama — 
must  be  viewed  as  a  whole  ;  must  be  estimated  with  re- 
spect, not  to  isolated  passages,  but  to  the  prevalent  tone 
and  the  general  effect.  There  are  dark  places  in  "  The 
Tempest,"  but  how  noble  and  healthful  the  summary — 
the  conclusion!  So  may  we  speak  generally  of  the 
greater  part  of  all  true  poetry.  There  can  be  no  perma- 
nent alliance  of  genius  with  frivolity.  The  enthusiasm 
called  poetic  inspiration  can  be  excited  only  by  noble 
aims  and  ideas. 

There  are  three  relations  that  poetic  art  may  bear  to 
religion  and  virtue.  The  artist  may  regard  his  work  as 
done  for  his  own  amusement  or  for  the  diversion  of  his 
readers.  In  this  instance,  the  relation  of  art  to  morality 
is  indifference.  Or  a  poet,  by  deplorable  error,  may  em- 
ploy art  as  the  slave  of  passion,  and  make  of  poetry  a 
beautiful  robe  for  deformity.  Or  thirdly,  while  enjoying 
his  own  artistic  freedom  with  respect  to  forms  of  expres- 
sion, he  may  write  poetry,  by  no  means  dryly  didactic, 
but  such  as,  when  fairly  and  generously  interpreted,  will 
be  found  harmonious  with  all  things  true,  honest,  pure, 
and  lovely. 

These  prefatory  words    may    serve   to  indicate  the 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

general  design  of  the  following  memoirs  and  essays.  To 
form  an  estimate  of  a  poet's  genius  and  its  evolution,  we 
would  ask  such  questions  as  these  :  What  is  the  range  of 
his  ideas  and  sympathies  ?  How  much  does  he  tell  of 
the  living  world  around  us — of  men  and  women,  as  indi- 
viduals, and  as  members  of  society  ?  Lastly,  what  are 
the  moral  tones  and  tendencies  of  his  writings  ? 

The  subjects  of  these  twelve  essays  are  chosen  for  the 
purpose  of  indicating  the  variety  included  in  poetry. 
The  selection  is  not  intended  to  represent  a  first  rank  of 
English  poets,  and  it  by  no  means  implies  that  names 
omitted  belong  to  a  second  rank.  Some  biographical 
outlines  are  given  ;  but  our  aim  is  to  show,  that  a  poet's 
true  life  is  found  in  his  own  poetry. 


SHAKESPEARE. 

T  Stratford-on-Avon,  a  quiet  town  situate  in 
a  midland  district  of  meadows,  pasture-land, 
and  corn-fields,  there  lived,  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  a  family  bearing  the  name  Shake- 
speare. The  father,  John  Shakespeare,  was  a  yeoman  of 
good  position,  who  lived  in  Henley  Street,  and  was  the 
owner  of  a  small  farm,  an  orchard,  and  some  tenements. 
At  one  time  he  was  a  maker  of  gloves,  most  probably 
such  coarse  and  strong  leather  gloves  as  are  worn  by 
men  who  plash  hedges.  Of  his  family,  three  sons — 
William,  Gilbert,  and  Richard — and  one  daughter,  named 
Joan,  were  living  in  1579. 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE,  the  oldest  son,  was  born  at 

Stratford-on-Avon  in  April,  1564.     (For  the  date  April 

23rd  no  evidence  has  been  found.)     That  the  son  of  a 

yeoman  or  small  farmer  might  be  well  educated  at  the 

D 


1 8  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Grammar  School  of  Stratford-on-Avon,  might  have 
some  knowledge  of  stage-players,  and  might  hear  news 
of  religious  plays,  or  Mysteries,  performed  at  Coventry, 
are  three  suppositions  having  some  considerable  proba- 
bility ;  but  vague  traditions  and  guesses  are  all  the 
grounds  that  can  be  found  for  the  stories  telling  us  that 
the  poet  was,  during  his  youth,  a  "  deer-stealer,"  a 
"butcher,"  and  a  "lawyer's  clerk."  When  hardly  nineteen 
years  old,  he  married  Anne  Hathaway,  the  daughter  of 
"  a  husbandman,"  or  small  farmer,  dwelling  at  Shottery, 
a  hamlet  near  Stratford-on-Avon.  Anne  was,  apparently, 
about  seven  years  older  than  her  husband.  Their  first 
child  was  a  daughter,  Susannah,  born  in  1583,  and,  two 
years  later,  twins — Hamnet  and  Judith — were  born. 
William  Shakespeare  had,  therefore,  three  children  when 
he  was  only  twenty-three  years  old.  About  the  time 
1586  (as  biographers  suppose),  he  went  to  London,  to 
win  the  means  of  subsistence  by  writing  and  acting 
plays.  It  is  not  conceivable  that  he  could  be,  at  that 
time,  wholly  unconscious  of  his  intellectual  resources. 
He  knew  that  they  could  find  no  adequate  employment 
in  any  little  town,  like  that  in  which  he  was  born,  and, 
doubtless,  thoughts  of  future  fame  had  already  visited 
him  in  his  solitude.  There  was  another  motive  that 
might  urge  him,  at  the  same  time,  to  make  some  new 
effort  for  the  support  of  himself  and  his  family.  The 
prosperity  of  his  father's  household  was  waning.  Accord- 
ingly, Shakespeare  (1586)  went  away  from  his  native 


SHAKESPEARE.  19 

place,  and  left  there  his  wife  and  three  children ;  but 
there  is  no  evidence  to  show  that  they  were  forsaken. 

The  notion  that  the  poet  was  an  illiterate  man  when 
he  left  Stratford-on-Avon  may  be  classified,  as  im- 
probable, with  some  stories  told  of  his  early  adventures 
in  London.  He  was  once,  we  are  told,  the  premier  in  a 
company  of  boys,  called  "  Shakespeare's  boys,"  who 
earned  money  by  holding  horses  for  gentlemen  visiting 
playhouses.  Afterwards,  it  is  said,  he  served  on  the 
stage  as  a  call-boy,  or  prompter's  attendant,  and  gradu- 
ally rose,  until  he  could  take  the  part  of  the  Ghost  in 
"  Hamlet."  These  stories  are  very  slightly  founded  on 
evidence. 

The  London  stage  was  still  in  a  rude  condition  when 
the  poet  came  up  from  Warwickshire.  About  the  time 
1577  the  first  theatre,  then  simply  called  "The  Theatre," 
was  built  on  a  site  near  Finsbury  Fields ;  and,  soon 
afterwards,  a  second  theatre,  called  "  The  Curtain,"  was 
erected  near  the  first.  The  people  who  frequented  these 
places  of  amusement — especially  on  Sundays  and  other 
holidays — included  many  of  the  less  educated  classes, 
who  were,  from  time  to  time,  called  unruly,  and  were 
otherwise  denounced  by  magistrates.  At  one  time 
it  was  proposed  that  all  acting  of  plays  within  or  near 
the  boundaries  of  the  city  should  be  prohibited  and,  in 
terms  of  extreme  severity,  both  players  and  the  sup- 
porters of  stage  plays  were  reprobated  by  several  Puritan 
writers  and  preachers.  The  arrangements  and  the  pro- 


20  ENGLISH  POETS. 

perties  of  theatres  were  primitive.  The  roof  covered 
only  the  stage  and  the  galleries,  while  the  pit  was  left 
open  to  the  sky.  One  penny  was  charged  for  admission, 
twopence  for  entrance  to  the  galleries,  and  sometimes 
threepence  was  paid  for  a  reserved  seat.  On  Sundays 
and  other  holidays  the  house  and  the  galleries  were 
often  densely  crowded,  and  one  of  the  arguments  used 
for  the  suppression  of  playhouses  was  founded  on  fear 
lest  they  might  be  means  of  spreading  the  plague.  Exer- 
cises in  fencing  and  the  performances  of  tumblers  were 
sometimes  introduced  to  give  variety  to  theatrical  amuse- 
ments. One  of  the  writers  against  stage  plays  admitted 
that  some  good  might  be  said  of  them,  and  that  some- 
times good  morals  were  taught  in  the  theatre. 

Of  Shakespeare's  first  association  with  players  nothing 
is  known  ;  but  it  is  clear  that,  about  the  time  1592,  when 
he  was  twenty-eight  years  old,  he  had  won  among  them 
a  fair  reputation,  for  they  described  him  as  a  versatile 
and  practical  man,  and  as  a  Jack-of-all-Trades  (or  a 
"  Factotum  "),  who  was  ready  to  turn  his  hand  to  any- 
thing, and  to  undertake  any  part  in  which  he  could 
make  himself  serviceable.  Some  friendly  notices  and 
some  expressions  of  envy  coincide  well,  so  as  to  lead  to 
one  conclusion  : — that  the  greatest  poet  who  ever  lived 
in  this  world  was  a  pleasant  companion  and  a  modest 
man.  He  worked  on  patiently,  in  concert  with  others, 
and  did  not  esteem  himself  "  a  star  "  of  the  first  magni- 
tude. But,  however  great  his  modesty,  it  was  impossible 


SHAKESPEARE.  21 

that  such  powers  as  he  possessed  could  be  concealed.  It 
was  reported,  with  some  exaggeration,  that  he  wrote  very 
rapidly  and  never  blotted  a  line.  The  "facetious  grace" 
of  his  style  was  commended.  These  and  other  praises 
excited  the  envy  of  less  prosperous  playwrights  and 
actors.  Robert  Greene  (a  poor  playwright  who  could 
never  "  keep  a  friend  ")  described  Shakespeare  as  a  man 
who,  "in  his  own  conceit," was  "the  only  Shake-scene  in 
a  country."  Other  words,  written  by  the  same  unfortu- 
nate rival,  express  a  fear  lest  "  an  upstart  crow  "  should 
win  praise  due  to  the  birds  from  whom  his  fine  feathers 
were  stolen.  These  words  are  mere  expressions  of  envy, 
but  they  serve  to  make  clear  the  fact  that  Shakespeare 
and  his  associates  were  winning  popularity  in  1592,  the 
year  when  Robert  Greene  died  in  miserable  circum- 
stances. He  would  have  died  of  starvation  in  the  streets 
of  London  if  he  had  not  been  succoured  by  one  of  his 
creditors — a  poor  shoemaker  to  whom  the  playwright 
owed  ten  pounds.  After  Greene's  death,  the  little  book 
containing  his  expressions  of  envy  was  published  by  his 
friend,  Chettle,  who,  soon  afterwards,  expressed  his  regret 
that  he  had  not  cancelled  the  false  words.  To  make 
amends,  Chettle,  in  his  antique  style,  described  Shake- 
speare as  a  man  whose  uprightness  and  civility,  in  all  his 
dealings  with  others,  were  as  well  known  as  was  the 
excellence  of  his  dramatic  writings.  The  words  written 
by  Greene,  and  the  recantation  made  by  his  friend 
and  editor,  are  important  contributions  to  our  know- 


22  ENGLISH  POETS. 

ledge  of  Shakespeare's  character  and  position.  Greene 
tells  us  that  his  rival  had  gained,  in  1 592,  a  great  suc- 
cess; and  Chettle  tells  us  the  success  was  fairly  won.  If 
Chettle  had  written  in  the  style  of  our  own  times,  he 
would  have  said  briefly  that,  in  the  old  and  true  mean- 
ing of  the  word,  Shakespeare  was  a  gentleman.  The 
testimonials  referred  to  in  Chettle's  recantation  were 
given  by  men  of  high  respectability.  It  is  clear,  then, 
that  the  poet's  reputation  was  well  established  as  early 
as  1592. 

A  word  is  hardly  wanted  to  remind  any  reader  that,  in 
the  times  of  Marlowe,  Chapman,  and  Shakespeare,  the 
style  of  writing  prevalent  in  dramatic  and  epic  poetry 
was  energetic,  bold,  and  luxuriant.  A  freedom  of  ex- 
pression that  in  our  time  would  be  called  licence,  was 
esteemed  as  one  of  the  essential  traits  of  poetry.  These 
qualities,  with  others  of  a  higher  kind,  are  all  found 
in  Shakespeare's  first  published  poem — "Venus  and 
Adonis,"  which  appeared  in  1593.  Most  probably  the 
poet  had  been  introduced  as  early  as  1589  to  his  young 
friend  and  patron,  Henry  Wriothesley,  Earl  of  South- 
ampton, who  concluded  his  studies  at  Cambridge  and 
came  to  London  before  he  was  twenty  years  old. 
In  a  dedication  addressed  to  Southampton,  the  poet 
spoke  of  his  work  as  hardly  worthy  of  his  patron's  notice, 
and  promised  that,  if  well  received,  it  should  be  followed 
by  "  some  graver  labour."  Accordingly,  in  the  following 
year,  he  dedicated  to  his  young  friend  the  tragic  narra- 


SHAKESPEARE.  23 

tive  poem  "  Lucrece,"  and  in  the  dedication  wrote  these 
words  : — "  What  I  have  done  is  yours  ;  what  I  have  to 
do  is  yours."  These  words  accord  well  with  many  ex- 
pressions found  in  the  sonnets  written  in  the  course  of 
a  few  years  following  the  first  publication  of  "  Lucrece." 
The  two  narrative  poems  are  alike  remarkable,  as  evi- 
dences of  strong  imagination  united  with  boundless  wealth 
and  freedom  of  expression.  Their  faults  belong  to  the 
times  in  which  they  appeared. 

The  assertion  already  made — that,  as  early  as  1 592, 
Shakespeare's  character  as  a  poet  and  a  player  of  the 
higher  class  was  established,  has  been  confirmed  by  the 
researches  of  Mr.  Halliwell.  To  this  gentleman  we  are 
indebted  for  our  knowledge  of  the  poet's  position  in 
1594.  In  that  year  the  Queen's  Treasurer  of  the 
Chamber  paid  to  William  Kempe,  WILLIAM  SHAKE- 
SPEARE, and  Richard  Burbage  (described  as  "  servants  to 
the  Lord  Chamberlain  "),  several  sums  of  money  as  pay- 
ment, and  "  by  way  of  Her  Majesty's  reward,"  for  "  two 
comedies  showed  by  them  before  Her  Majesty,  in 
Christmas  time  last  past — namely,  upon  St.  Stephen's 
Day  and  Innocents'  Day."  In  the  same  year  the  same 
company  of  players,  Shakespeare,  Kempe,  and  Burbage 
— as  one  of  the  two  companies  who  were  licensed  and 
were  patronized  by  the  Queen — made  application  for  a 
renewal  of  their  licence  to  give  dramatic  performances  at 
a  tavern,  the  Cross  Keys  in  Gracechurch  Street.  No 
evidence  has  been  found  to  show  that  Shakespeare  was, 


24  ENGLISH  POETS. 

at  that  time  or  afterwards,  one  of  the  proprietors  of  any 
theatre  ;  but  as  an  actor  he  would,  of  course,  have  his 
share  of  "  the  house  money  "  and  "  the  gallery  money  " 
— in  other  words,  a  share  in  the  profits  gained  by  per- 
formances of  his  own  plays  and  others.  It  is  obvious 
that  the  old  story  of  his  playing  no  part  save  that  of  the 
Ghost  in  "  Hamlet "  is  contradicted  by  the  facts  here 
given,  as  well  as  by  the  fact  that  in  1598  he  took  a  part 
in  one  of  Ben  Jonson's  comedies. 

In  1596,  when  he  paid  a  visit  to  his  native  place,  the 
poet  had  already  gained  money  enough  to  make  his  own 
circumstances  easy,  though  by  no  means  wealthy,  and  it 
is  pleasant  to  observe  that  about  the  same  time  the 
family  of  John  Shakespeare,  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  were 
released  from  pecuniary  difficulties,  and  restored  to  their 
former  social  position.  In  1557,  when  he  married,  John 
Shakespeare  took  possession  of  a  farm  of  fifty-four  acres, 
besides  some  houses  and  tenements.  Twenty  years 
later — when  the  poet  was  a  boy,  twelve  years  old — the 
father  found  himself  compelled  to  mortgage  his  farm  and 
some  tenements.  But  in  1596,  when  the  poet's  own  cir- 
cumstances were  good,  a  grant  of  arms  was  made  to  his 
father.  The  Shakespeares  of  Stratford-on-Avon  were 
then  comparatively  prosperous.  This  coincidence  accords 
well  with  a  natural  belief  that  the  man  who  wrote  "  King 
Lear  "  was  a  kind  and  thankful  son.  There  can  be  no 
reason  for  doubting  that  at  various  times,  of  which  no 
memoranda  have  been  preserved,  he  came  down  to  his 


SHAKESPEARE.  25 

native  place.  The  vague  rumour  that  he  was  a  cold  or 
unkind  husband  is  founded  on  nothing  better  than  the 
misconstruction  of  a  few  words  added  to  his  will.  How 
welcome  to  the  poet,  coming  down  from  London — from 
the  overwork  and  excitement  of  the  stage — that  interval 
of  repose  in  1596  must  have  been  !  But  it  was  a  time  of 
rest  not  undisturbed  by  grief;  for  then  he  buried,  at 
Stratford-on-Avon,  his  only  son,  Hamnet,  who  died  when 
twelve  years  old.  In  the  following  year  the  poet  again 
visited  his  native  town,  and  there  bought,  for  sixty 
pounds,  a  house  called  New  Place,  with  two  barns  and 
two  gardens.  In  the  same  year,  John  Shakespeare,  the 
father,  filed  a  bill  in  Chancery  for  a  recovery  of  the  farm 
that  had  been  mortgaged  in  1577.  Here  is  another 
pleasing  coincidence. 

In  1 598  the  first  theatre,  situate  near  Finsbury  Fields, 
was  finally  closed,  and  its  materials  were  used  for  build- 
ing the  new  theatre  called  the  Globe.  At  that  time 
Shakespeare  still  belonged  to  one  of  the  two  companies 
of  players  licensed  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  and 
engaged  now  and  then  to  prepare  comedies  and  other 
plays  to  be  performed  in  the  presence  of  the  Queen. 
The  players  belonging  to  a  third  company  were  at  the 
same  time  denounced  by  authority  as  unlicensed  in- 
truders, who  had  never  "prepared  any  play  for  Her 
Majesty,"  and  were  not  obedient,  as  were  the  two  licensed 
companies,  to  rules  and  regulations  prescribed  by  the 
Master  of  the  Revels.  Orders  were,  therefore,  given  by 
E 


26  ENGLISH  POETS. 

the  Lord  Admiral  and  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  that  the 
said  Master  of  the  Revels  and  the  Justices  of  the  Peace 
in  Middlesex  and  Surrey  should  put  in  force  measures 
for  the  suppression  of  unlicensed  players.  This  prohibi- 
tion serves  to  show  that,  in  1 598,  Shakespeare  had  still 
the  advantage  of  being  recognized  as  one  in  a  licensed 
company  of  players,  distinguished  as  "Her  Majesty's 
servants."  In  this  capacity  he  was  engaged,  in  the  course 
of  the  same  year,  as  one  of  the  actors  in  a  performance 
of  Ben  Jonson's  comedy,  "  Every  Man  in  His  Humour." 
This  fact  leads  us  to  notice  Jonson's  eulogy  of  Shake- 
speare. 

After  all  that  has  been  said  of  Jonson's  self-esteem, 
his  pride  of  learning,  and  his  want  of  feeling  for  the  finer 
tones  in  Shakespeare's  poetry,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  distance  between  the  two  poets  was  clearly  seen, 
though  not  exactly  measured  by  Jonson.  His  own 
defects  served  to  make  the  eulogy  more  remarkable. 
Jonson  could  hate  a  rival,  and  could  express  bitterly  his 
contempt  of  men  inferior  to  himself.  Vague  and  indis- 
criminate "hero-worship,"  though  the  hero  was  the 
greatest  of  poets,  had  often  made  Jonson  angry.  But 
these  considerations  and  others  serve  to  make  his  eulogy 
more  glorious.  It  forms  a  fine  contrast  to  the  mysterious 
silence  of  Lord  Bacon,  and  to  the  "faint  praise"  of 
smaller  cotemporaries.  Let  it  be  recalled  to  mind  that 
one  of  Jonson's  own  admirers,  when  referring  to  the 
English  drama  of  the  sixteenth  century,  would  not  name 


SHAKESPEARE.  27 

Shakespeare,  but  addressed  to  Jonson  an  ode  praising 
him  as  the  sole  creator  of  English  dramatic  poetry. 
Other  examples  of  the  same  kind  might  be  given.  The 
eulogy  written  by  Ben  Jonson  is  a  solitary  and  noble 
monument,  telling  us  that  Shakespeare's  greatness  was 
fully  recognized  by  one  of  his  cotemporaries.  Jonson 
describes  his  friend  as  "honest"  (in  the  old  and  true 
sense),  and  as  "  a  man  of  an  open  and  free  nature ; " 
then  goes  on  to  say  : — "  I  do  honour  him,  on  this  side 
idolatry,  as  much  as  any."  With  manly  independence  he 
notices,  without  admiration,  the  poet's  extreme  facility 
in  writing,  and  regrets  that  it  was  not  followed  by  greater 
care  in  revision  and  severity  in  cancelling.  These  and 
other  expressions  of  fair  criticism  make  more  remarkable 
such  lines  as  the  following  : — 

"He  was  not  for  an  age,  but  for  all  time, 
And  all  the  Muses  still  were  in  their  prime 
When,  like  Apollo,  he  came  forth." 

If  Jonson  could  write  thus  of  Shakespeare,  why  were 
many  cotemporaries  silent  ?  Lord  Bacon's  imaginative 
powers  would  surely  make  him  a  critic  well  qualified  for 
recognizing  the  presence  of  a  great  poet ;  but,  with  re- 
spect to  inferior  men,  it  may  be  noticed  that  a  strange 
fatality  of  error,  in  extreme  laudation  or  undeserved  con- 
tempt, too  often  attends  cotemporary  criticism.  In  our 
own  century,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Byron,  Keats  and 
Shelley  have  been  condemned,  and  would  have  been  sup- 
pressed, if  it  had  been  possible.  In  Shakespeare's  time, 


28  ENGLISH  POETS. 

many  readers,  who  admired  the  rich  imagery  and  fluent 
diction  of  his  narrative  poems,  could  not  appreciate  fairly 
the  nobler  characteristics  of  his  plays.  As  one  exception 
Francis  Meres  may  be  named.  His  book,  published  in 
1598,  contains  praise  of  Shakespeare's  poems  (including 
the  sonnets),  and  of  several  plays  Meres  writes  in  terms 
which,  though  inadequate,  are  intended  to  express  ad- 
miration. The  plays  to  which  he  refers  include  the  fol- 
lowing : — The  "  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,"  the 
"  Comedy  of  Errors,"  "  Love's  Labour's  Lost,"  the  "  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,"  the  "Merchant  of  Venice," 
"  Richard  the  Second,"  "  Richard  the  Third,"  "  Henry 
the  Fourth,"  "King  John,"  "Titus  Andronicus,"  and 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

The  notices  preserved  of  Shakespeare's  life,  during 
eleven  years  following  1600,  are  scanty.  In  1601  his 
father  died  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  and  the  poet's  friend, 
Southampton — accused  as  one  of  the  accomplices  of 
Essex — was  sent  to  the  Tower.  Soon  afterwards  the 
poet  seems  to  have  visited  his  native  place,  for  in  1602 
the  property  called  New  Place  was  increased  by  a  pur- 
chase of  land  lying  between  the  house  and  the  Avon. 
Shakespeare's  name  appears  in  a  licence  granted  to  a 
company  of  players  in  the  year  1603,  and  in  the  time 
1 600-4  several  of  his  plays  were  printed. 

The  sonnets,  which  have  given  rise  to  so  much  con- 
troversy, were  noticed,  as  we  have  seen,  as  early  as  1598, 
but  were  first  collected  and  printed  in  1609,  when  they 


SHAKESPEARE.  29 

were  introduced  by  the  following  hopeless  riddle,  given 
in  the  shape  of  a  dedication  :  "  To  the  only  Begetter  of 
these  ensuing  Sonnets,  Mr.  W.  H.,  all  happiness  and 
that  eternity  promised  by  our  ever-living  Poet  wisheth 
the  well-wishing  adventurer  in  setting  forth,  T.  T."  The 
first  seventeen  of  the  sonnets  are  addressed  to  a  young 
Adonis.  In  others  are  found  admiration  of  beauty, 
declarations  of  love  and  of  friendship,  complaints  refer- 
ring to  adverse  circumstances,  solemn  thoughts  of  mor- 
tality, and  expressions  of  a  belief  in  the  immortality  of 
fame  bestowed  by  poetry.  Here  and  there  are  given 
passages  of  grave  admonition,  and  some  expressions  are 
found  that  may  be  called  mystical.  The  wealth  of  illus- 
tration, especially  of  images  derived  from  the  four  seasons 
of  the  year,  is  abundant,  and  there  are  several  sonnets, 
so  individual  and  so  earnest,  that  they  seem  to  flow 
directly  from  the  writer's  heart.  The  history  of  this 
little  book  of  sonnets  is  hardly  less  remarkable  than  its 
contents.  One  editor,  Steevens,  talks  of  an  Act  of  Par- 
liament as  hardly  strong  enough  to  make  a  man  read 
such  verses.  This  flippant  criticism  was  denounced  by 
Coleridge  and  by  Wordsworth.  The  latter,  perhaps  too 
boldly  and  indiscriminately,  maintained  that  in  these 
poems  Shakespeare  expressed,  "  in  his  own  person,  his 
own  feelings."  One  elaborate  exposition  of  the  sonnets 
treats  them  as  a  dramatic  series,  and  finds  in  them 
references  to  the  love-affairs  of  Southampton,  and  those 
of  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  who,  in  his  youth,  was  named 


30  ENGLISH  POETS. 

William  Herbert.  This  theory  is  opposed  by  a  writer 
who  maintains  that  the  sonnets  should  be  viewed  as  a 
collection  of  fugitive  pieces,  put  together  mostly  without 
any  regard  for  order,  and  dedicated  to  Southampton  by 
W.  H.,  who  (as  the  critic  says)  might  be  William 
Hathaway,  one  of  the  poet's  relatives.  Lastly  may  be 
noticed  the  opinion  of  one  of  Shakespeare's  most  careful 
editors.  Mr.  Dyce  expresses  a  belief  that  the  sonnets 
were  mostly  written  in  an  assumed  character,  and  for 
the  amusement  of  the  author's  friends,  and  that,  while 
one  or  two  may  reflect  the  poet's  own  feelings,  the  whole 
series  must  not  be  accepted  as  having  reference  to  his 
personal  circumstances.  Perhaps  the  word  "several" 
might  here  be  well  substituted  for  the  words  "  one  or 
two."  The  Sonnets  addressed  by  Sydney  to  "  Stella " 
may  be  noticed  to  show  that,  in  his  time,  such  poems 
might  be  unreal,  and  have  no  reference  to  facts.  The 
expressions  of  love  and  friendship  found  in  such  poems 
must  obviously  be  interpreted  with  a  reference  to  tastes 
prevalent  at  the  time  when  the  Sonnets  were  written. 

In  1611  "The  Tempest"  was  performed,  perhaps  for 
the  first  time.  If  it  could  be  proved  that  this  was  the 
writer's  last  work,  there  might  be  found,  in  the  conclu- 
sion, a  reference  to  his  own  feelings.  After  more  than 
twenty  years  of  intellectual  work,  he  was  thinking  of 
quiet,  green  fields  and  a  home  near  the  Avon,  and  he 
might  well  repeat,  with  reference  to  himself,  some 
words  spoken  by  the  magician.  In  1612,  or  about  that 


SHAKESPEARE.  31 

time,  when  his  annual  income  was  probably  equivalent 
to  a  respectable  competency,  the  Poet  left  London, 
and  retired  to  New  Place  at  Stratford-on-Avon.  He  was 
then  only  forty-eight  years  old  ;  but  his  true  age,  measured 
by  work  and  expenditure  of  power,  might,  in  all  pro- 
bability, exceed  the  age  indicated  by  that  number  of  his 
years.  He  might  use  truly,  speaking  in  his  own  person, 
the  words  he  had  written  some  time  before  his  final 
retirement : — 

"  That  time  of  year  thou  may'st  in  me  behold 
When  yellow  leaves,  or  none,  or  few  do  hang 
Upon  those  boughs  which  shake  against  the  cold — 
Bare,  ruin'd  choirs,  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang. 
In  me  thou  see'st  the  twilight  of  such  day 
As,  after  sunset,  fadeth  in  the  west, 
Which,  by-and-by,  black  night  doth  take  away, 
Death's  second  self,  that  seals  up  all  in  rest." 

The  Poet  died  at  Stratford-on-Avon,  on  the  23rd  of 
April,  in  the  year  1616.  By  his  will,  executed  in  March, 
1616,  he  bequeathed  to  his  wife  the  "second  best  bed," 
and  these  words,  oddly  misconstrued,  have  been  sup- 
posed to  imply  some  want  of  kindness.  His  widow,  who 
was  sixty  years  old  at  the  time  of  his  decease,  died  in 
1623.  There  remains  now  no  lineal  representative  of 
the  Poet.  The  name  Shakespeare  might  be  supposed 
to  have  reference  to  some  peculiar  incident  in  the  history 
of  one  family ;  but  it  is  borne  by  several  unconnected 
families. 

In   1623  the  Poet's  dramatic  writings  were  first  col- 


32  ENGLISH  POETS. 

lected  in  a  folio  entitled  "Mr.  William  Shakespeare's 
Comedies,  Histories,  and  Tragedies."  Other  editions  in 
folio  appeared  in  the  years  1632,  1663,  and  1685.  A  com- 
plete list  of  later  editions,  of  translations,  and  of  com- 
mentaries, English,  German,  and  American,  would  fill  a 
volume.  Ben  Jonson's  words — retrospective  in  form,  but 
implying  a  remarkable  prediction — have  been  fulfilled. 
Great  poets  and  able  critics  have  been  rivals  in  the  task 
of  exploring  and  setting  forth  the  wealth  of  the  Poet, 

"  Who  was  not  for  an  age,  but  for  all  time." 
Is  it  credible  that  all  the  plays  ascribed  to  Shake- 
speare were  written  by  one  man,  in  the  course  of  about 
twenty  years  ?  The  question  implies  wonder,  arising, 
not  from  ignorance,  but  from  insight.  Careful  investi- 
gation may  justify  the  subtraction  of  some  inferior 
portions  of  several  plays,  and  of  such  coarse  passages  as 
might  be  foisted  in  by  audacious  actors.  But  it  can 
hardly  be  doubted  that  the  great  Poet  was  compelled  to 
write  with  some  submission  to  "  the  emergencies  of  the 
stage,"  as  it  existed  in  his  time.  Under  the  pressure  of 
association  with  players  urged  by  precarious  circum- 
stances, he  would  sometimes  find  himself  constrained  to 
amend,  re-cast,  or  complete  work  partly  done  by  inferior 
men.  He  perhaps  referred  to  work  of  that  description 
when  he  said  : — 

"  Thence  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brand, 
And  almost  thence  my  nature  is  subdued 
To  what  it  works  in — like  the  dyer's  hand." 


SHAKESPEARE.  33 

But,  when  all  reasonable  subtraction  is  made  from 
plays  ascribed  to  Shakespeare,  he  is  a  gainer  by  the  loss. 
There  exists  no  doubt  that  the  greatest  and  best  plays 
are  substantially  the  work  of  one  man.  The  wonder 
attending  his  name  can  never  be  suppressed,  but  may 
be,  in  some  degree,  moderated  by  studies  of  life  and 
literature  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Marvellous  powers 
of  intellect  and  imagination  were,  at  that  time,  the  at- 
tendants of  stormy  passions.  To  supply  expression  for 
newly  excited  powers  of  thought,  a  vast  expansion  of  the 
English  language  took  place  with  great  rapidity.  With 
respect,  therefore,  to  the  energy  and  wealth  of  poetic 
diction,  the  arrival  of  Shakespeare  had  been  heralded  by 
preceding  writers.  But,  with  regard  to  the  truth,  the 
power,  the  beauty  and  the  variety  of  his  dramatic  poetry, 
his  appearance,  after  all  that  had  been  done,  was  like 
a  sudden  coming-on  of  Summer,  immediately  after  a 
stormy  March. 

The  Poet's  dramatic  writings  may  be  collectively  called 
a  whole  world  of  poetry.  To  notice,  within  concise 
limits,  the  scenery  and  the  people  of  that  world — its 
contrasts  and  harmonies,  heights  and  depths,  beauties 
and  deformities — the  rapidity  of  Ariel's  flight  would  be 
required.  We  may,  however,  give  some  aid  to  young 
readers  who  would  explore  the  wealth  of  thought, 
feeling,  and  imagery  found  in  Shakespeare's  world. 

First  may  be  noticed  the  harmonizing  of  natural  scenery 
with  the  motives  and  ideas  of  several  dramas.  In  "The 


34  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Tempest,"  when  the  usurper  and  his  company  are  cast  by 
a  storm  on  the  island,  seas  and  shores,  "  all  creatures," 
conspire  to  punish  them,  until  their  "heart's  sorrow" 
leads  to  a  better  life.  In  "  As  You  Like  It "  the  tone 
of  the  whole  play  accords  well  with  the  freedom  and 
gladness  of  life  in  the  Forest  of  Arden.  There — 

"...  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees,  books  in  the  running  brooks, 
Sermons  in  stones,  and  good  in  everything." 

How  well  the  wild,  desolate  heath,  the  thunder  and 
lightning,  accord  with  the  passions  expressed  in  "  King 
Lear  "  and  in  "  Macbeth  !  "  The  forsaken  and  dejected 
woman,  Mariana,  dwells  "  at  the  moated  grange."  The 
playfulness  of  "  Love's  Labour's  Lost "  has  for  its  scenery 
a  park.  In  the  closing  scene  of  the  "  Merchant  of 
Venice,"  the  moon  and  the  stars  shine  clearly  along  the 
avenue  and  on  banks  of  lawn  at  the  mansion  Belmont. 
In  the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  "  we  pass  from  the 
Duke's  palace  to  the  cottage,  where  Quince  musters  his 
company  of  grotesque  players  ;  then  we  go  to  the  wood 
near  Athens,  and  away  into  the  faery-land  of  Oberon 
and  Titania.  The  scene  is  a  garden,  and  the  moon  "  tips 
with  silver  all  these  fruit-tree  tops,"  when  Romeo  de- 
clares his  love.  As  Coleridge  observes,  all  these  and  other 
fine  concords  are  parts  of  one  general  harmony,  such 
as  is  found  in  a  landscape,  where  trees,  ferns,  and  flowers, 
however  various,  all  grow  on  one  soil  and  in  one  climate. 

Turning  from   the  scenery  to  the  people  in   Shake- 


SHAKESPEARE.  35 

speare's  world,  we  find  individuality  even  in  his  less 
complex  creations.  Caliban  is  brutal,  but  his  fear  of 
being  placed  still  lower  in  Nature's  scale  makes  him 
distinct  from  Barnardine,  whose  "stubborn  soul"  is 
"  fearless  of  what's  past,  present,  or  to  come."  Among 
rustic  people,  mechanics,  clowns,  and  servants,  each  has 
some  peculiar  trait.  William,  the  "  youth  in  the  forest," 
is  modest,  but  he  cannot  be  mistaken  for  Launce.  The 
obtrusive  self-esteem  of  Bottom  makes  him  distinct  from 
all  the  other  players  in  his  company.  The  keen  irony  of 
the  fool  in  "  King  Lear,"  the  logical  humour  of  Touch- 
stone, and  the  melodious  talent  of  the  clown  in  "  What 
You  Will,"  afford  other  specimens  of  individuality  in 
subordinate  characters. 

But  it  is  in  the  creation  of  more  complex  characters 
that  the  Poet  chiefly  displays  his  power.  How  many  are 
his  variations  of  which  one  principle — self-esteem — is  the 
key-note  !  Nothing  can  be  more  vague  than  the  word 
"  egotist,"  as  commonly  used  ;  but  egotism,  as  treated 
by  the  Poet,  has  shades  and  tones  and  degrees,  too  many 
to  be  counted  here.  Neither  Dogberry  nor  Shallow  can 
be  described  by  that  dull,  abstract  word — egotist.  In 
Dogberry  self-esteem  is  solemn,  magisterial,  and  has  no 
alliance  with  any  affectation.  He  is  a  truthful  man,  and 
we  believe  him  when  he  refers  to  his  sad  losses  of  pro- 
perty. But  we  do  not  believe  Shallow's  stories  of  wild 
frolics  in  his  youth,  and  we  have  no  faith  in  his  pathos 
when  he  thus  refers  to  his  dear,  departed  friends : — 


36  ENGLISH  POETS. 

"  Certain,  'tis  certain  ;  very  sure,  very  sure  :  death,  as  the  Psalmist 
saith,  is  certain  to  all;  all  shall  die.  How  a  good  yoke  of  bullocks 
at  Stamford  fair  ? " 

Shallow  reminds  us  of  a  far  greater  man,  of  the  most 
complete  of  all  humorous  creations — Falstaff.  A  volume 
would  be  wanted  for  the  analysis  of  that  character. 
Little  is  said  when  we  call  it  a  blending  of  contrasts. 
This  may  be  found  in  many  inferior  creatures  of  imagin- 
ation. In  the  "  Winter's  Tale,"  we  find,  for  example, 
a  love  of  green  fields  and  a  jollity  as  innocent  as  a  lark's 
blended  with  the  lower  traits  of  that  vagabond  and  pick- 
pocket, Autolycus,  whose  self-esteem  finds  consolation 
in  the  thought  that  he  was  born  to  be  a  thief,  or,  in  other 
words,  "  was  littered  under  Mercury." 

In  far  higher  combinations  the  same  principle — self- 
esteem — is  found  in  such  great  and  strong  souls  as  Julius 
Caesar,  Coriolanus,  Othello,  and  Lady  Macbeth.  Though 
like  one  another  in  that  one  element,  as  in  their  strength 
of  will,  they  stand  forth  so  clearly  distinct  one  from  an- 
other, that  men  at  the  present  time  talk  of  them  as 
of  so  many  living  persons.  Other  motives  might  be 
noticed  to  show  the  Poet's  power  in  the  various  combina- 
tions of  one  principle.  Thersites — like  lago — is  envious, 
malicious,  and  slanderous ;  but  here  the  likeness  ends. 
On  the  former  we  look  down  with  contempt,  from  the 
latter  we  shrink  with  horror. 

The  monotony  of  many  love-stories  is  proverbial,  but 
it  is  not  found  in  the  stories  told  by  Shakespeare.  True  ; 


SHAKESPEARE.  37 

we  find  some  likeness  of  words  and  sentiments,  but  the 
old,  old  story  is  varied  by  lights  and  shades,  like  those 
cast  by  clouds  and  sunshine  over  a  landscape. 

"  Ah  me  !  for  aught  that  ever  I  could  read, 

Could  ever  hear,  by  tale  or  history, 

The  course  of  true  love  never  did  run  smooth  : 

But  either  it  was  different  in  blood ; 

Or  if  there  were  a  sympathy  in  choice, 

War,  death,  or  sickness  did  lay  siege  to  it, 

Making  it  momentary  as  a  sound, 

Swift  as  a  shadow,  short  as  any  dream, 

Brief  as  the  lightning  in  the  collied  night, 

That,  in  a  spleen,  unfolds  both  heaven  and  earth, 

And  ere  a  man  hath  power  to  say  '  Behold  ! ' 

The  jaws  of  darkness  do  devour  it  up  : 

So  quick,  bright  things  come  to  confusion." 

That  is  said  by  Lysander,  in  the  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream ; "  and  one  of  his  thoughts  is  repeated  by  the 
heroine  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  when  she  says : 

"  Well,  do  not  swear :  although  I  joy  in  thee, 
I  have  no  joy  of  this  contract  to-night : 
It  is  too  rash,  too  unadvised,  too  sudden  ; 
Too  like  the  lightning,  which  doth  cease  to  be, 
Ere  one  can  say — '  It  lightens.'  " 

Here  is  a  likeness  in  two  passages ;  but  how  widely 
different  the  stories  of  Lysander  and  Romeo  !  One  is  a 
dream,  associated  with  scenes  in  faery-land ;  the  other  is 
a  tale  of  love  in  conflict  with  cruel  destiny.  Other 
modulations  of  the  same  everlasting  theme  are  recalled 
by  the  names :  Portia,  Beatrice,  Rosalind,  Miranda,  and 
Desdemona. 


38  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Poets  have  said  too  little  of  friendship,  and  too  little 
of  the  deep  and  quiet  affections,  parental  and  filial  love  ; 
but  these  are  elements  included  in  Shakespeare's  world 
of  poetry.  In  "  King  Lear,"  the  filial  love  of  Cordelia 
sheds  light  over  all  the  terrors  of  the  tragedy.  Corio- 
lanus,  the  strong  and  noble  man,  is  overcome  at  last ;  but 
nothing  less  than  nature's  own  might  subdues  him.  The 
supplications  of  his  wife  and  his  boy  are  united  with  his 
mother's  prayers,  to  break  down  the  iron  will  against 
which  a  world  in  arms  could  do  nothing. 

Caution  and  modesty  are  demanded  when  we  speak 
of  a  general  meaning  or  purport  in  one  of  Shakespeare's 
plays.  Here  slow  inquiry  is  better  than  rash  judgment. 
The  Poet  allows  his  characters  to  speak  for  themselves, 
and  not  as  direct  reporters  of  his  own  thoughts  and 
sentiments.  He  would  not  be  a  dramatist  if  he  made 
every  speaker  a  teacher  of  good  morals.  Nevertheless, 
works  of  art,  including  poetry,  must,  with  respect  to  their 
general  tones  and  tendencies,  have  some  relationship 
with  moral  culture  and  social  interests.  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  the  general,  the  ultimate  tendencies  of 
Shakespeare's  best  plays  are  good  and  healthful.  Though 
direct  moral  lessons  are  not  the  passages  that  display  the 
Poet's  power,  he  has  given  them  in  such  abundance,  that 
they  have  supplied  materials  for  several  volumes  of 
selections  from  his  works.  Here  and  there  he  gives  not 
only  advice,  but  also  the  grounds  or  reasons  by  which  it 
may  be  supported.  A  remarkable  example  is  found  in 
"  Troilus  and  Cressida,"  act  iii.  scene  3. 


SHAKESPEARE.  39 

There  are  found,  in  the  plays  ascribed  to  Shakespeare, 
some  objectionable  passages  which,  in  all  probability,  he 
did  not  write.  At  the  same  time,  it  would  be  ridiculous 
to  imagine  that  he  was  a  precisian.  He  wrote,  no  doubt, 
many  of  the  passages  in  which  boldness  and  licence  of 
expression,  characteristic  of  his  times,  seem  carried  be- 
yond due  bounds.  Of  all  virtues  and  graces  in  writing, 
reserve  was  the  last  to  be  dreamed  of  by  an  Elizabethan 
dramatist.  A  land  may  be  fair,  and  on  the  whole  may 
be  well  cultivated,  though  it  includes  some  fenny  dis- 
tricts. Nothing  is  here  said  with  reference  to  two  plays, 
of  which  the  authorship  seems  partly  dubious.  On  in- 
ferior passages  in  others  it  would  be  bad  taste  to  dwell. 
It  would  be  like  turning  away  from  the  lights  to  peer 
into  the  darkest  shades  of  some  old  picture. 

Turning  from  morals  to  politics,  we  find  some  interest 
in  the  question — do  the  historical  plays  tell  anything  of 
the  writer's  views  of  society  and  government  ?  Several 
of  the  characters  introduced  speak  forcibly  on  the  side 
of  authority,  and  for  the  conservation  of  old  institutions, 
while  in  several  plays,  especially  in  "  Coriolanus "  and 
"Julius  Caesar,"  demagogues  and  their  followers  are 
treated  with  humorous  contempt.  But  must  such  ex- 
pressions be  regarded  as  more  than  dramatic  ?  Does  the 
zest  with  which  the  poet  wrote  some  invectives  against 
mob-leaders  betray  his  own  antipathy?  That  question 
may  be  left  open.  Of  his  general  religious  sentiments 
more  may  be  said,  with  some  degree  of  confidence. 


40  ENGLISH  POETS. 

The  so-called  religious  controversy  raging  in  his  time 
must  be  noticed,  if  we  would  place  in  fair  contrast  with 
its  bitterness  the  tolerant  and  reverent  words  of  the 
Poet.  He  lived  in  times  when  kingdoms  were  disturbed 
by  contentions  arising  from  differences  of  belief.  In 
England  men  were  divided  into  three  classes — members  of 
the  Established  Church,  Roman  Catholics,  and  Puritans. 
Some  of  their  disputes  were  carried  on  in  a  style  described 
mildly  in  a  few  words  written  by  Lord  Bacon  : — 

"  It  is  more  than  time,"  he  says,  "  that  there  were  an  end  made 
of  that  immodest  and  deformed  manner  of  writing  whereby  matters 
of  religion  are  handled  in  the  style  of  the  stage." 

The  Puritans — stern  enemies  of  the  stage — said  many 
bitter  things  of  players.  How  does  Shakespeare  reply? 
In  "What  You  Will"  a  Puritan  is  named  respectfully, 
and  is  favourably  placed  in  contrast  with  "  a  time- 
pleaser."  Other  religious  men,  without  reference  to 
their  several  creeds,  are  treated  with  respect.  The 
"friars"  introduced  in  "Romeo  and  Juliet"  and  "Much 
Ado  About  Nothing"  are  both  represented  as  good  and 
kind  men.  In  "  As  You  Like  It,"  forms  of  public  worship 
are  referred  to  as  bonds  of  society  and  as  defences  against 
barbarism.  The  general  purport  of  the  historical  play 
"  King  Henry  VIII."  is  truly  religious,  and  may  be 
reduced  to  a  summary  given  in  the  words  of  Cardinal 
Wolseyt— 

"  Cromwell,  I  charge  thee,  fling  away  ambition  : 
By  that  sin  fell  the  angels  ;  how  can  man  then, 


SHAKESPEARE.  41 

The  image  of  his  Maker,  hope  to  win  by  't  ? 

Love  thyself  last ;  cherish  those  hearts  that  hate  thee ; 

Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty. 

Still  in  thy  right  hand  carry  gentle  peace, 

To  silence  envious  tongues.     Be  just,  and  fear  not : 

Let  all  the  ends  thou  aim'st  at  be  thy  country's, 

Thy  God's,  and  truth's  ;  then  if  thou  fall'st,  O  Cromwell, 

Thou  fall'st  a  blessed  martyr.     Serve  the  king  ; 

And, — Prithee,  lead  me  in  : 

There  take  an  inventory  of  all  I  have, 

To  the  last  penny  ;  'tis  the  king's  :  my  robe, 

And  my  integrity  to  heaven,  is  all 

I  dare  now  call  mine  own.     O  Cromwell,  Cromwell, 

Had  I  but  serv'd  my  God  with  half  the  zeal 

I  serv'd  my  king,  He  would  not  in  mine  age 

Have  left  me  naked  to  mine  enemies." 

A  word  is  hardly  wanted  to  refer  to  several  passages 
indicating  the  Poet's  belief  in  an  unseen  world.  He 
speaks  of  death  as  a  transition,  not  as  an  extinction. 
Several  remarkable  expressions  found  in  his  plays  might 
be  placed  together  with  others  found  in  his  sonnets,  to 
show  that  a  tendency  to  meditation  on  mortality  and  on 
a  future  state  of  existence  was  one  of  the  Poet's  own 
characteristics.  The  fears  named  in  Hamlet's  well- 
known  soliloquy  are  more  fully  expressed  by  Claudio  (in 
"  Measure  for  Measure  "),  when  he  is  pleading  for  his 
own  life. 

As  all  the  world  knows,  two  of  the  most  eloquent  of 

all  passages  in  the  plays  are  pleas  in  behalf  of  mercy 

and  forgiveness.      The  first  is   Portia's   appeal   in   the 

"  Merchant  of  Venice  ;"  the  second  is  found  in  "  Measure 

G 


42  ENGLISH   POETS. 

for  Measure."  An  Israelite  may  regret  that,  in  the 
former  appeal,  the  Poet — accepting  an  old  tradition — 
ascribes  an  intensely  revengeful  feeling  to  a  Jew.  Let 
it  be  remembered,  on  the  other  side,  that  we  are  clearly 
told  how  Shylock  was  made  cruel  by  persecuting  men 
who  called  themselves  Christians.  Here  the  Poet  cannot 
be  called  one-sided  in  his  reprobation  of  a  persecuting 
and  vindictive  temper. 

Was  Shakespeare's  own  creed  one  in  accordance  with 
the  established  orthodoxy  of  his  own  times  ?  That  is 
another  of  the  questions  that  may  be  left  open.  One  truth 
is  as  clear  as  daylight ;  he  speaks  of  kindness,  reverence, 
and  mercy  as  including  the  essential  elements  of  the 
Christian  religion.  He  was  not  a  bigot,  though  he  lived  in 
times  when  too  many  accepted  bigotry  as  a  sort  of  quint- 
essence of  piety.  The  words  which  he  used  when  speak- 
ing of  some  harsh  constructions  of  law  were,  moreover, 
truly  descriptive  of  the  intolerance  prevalent  in  his  day  : — 

"  Could  great  men  thunder 
As  Jove  himself  does,  Jove  would  ne'er  be  quiet, 
For  every  pelting,  petty  officer 
Would  use  his  heaven  for  thunder  :  nothing  but  thunder." 

The  general  tone  of  Shakespeare  whenever  he  refers 
to  controversies  is  moderate  and  conciliatory.  It  was, 
doubtless,  the  natural  expression  of  his  own  temper. 
All  the  powers  of  his  genius,  without  a  motive  power  of 
love,  would  not  have  sufficed  to  create  such  a  world  of 
kindness,  playfulness,  and  good  humour  as  we  find  in 
his  best  comedies. 


SHAKESPEARE.  43 

The  good  temper  of  the  Poet  seems,  in  some  instances, 
to  have  communicated  itself  to  the  men  who  have  studied 
his  writings.  He  has  instituted  among  men  of  several 
nations  a  new  bond  of  fellowship.  On  their  common 
estimate  of  his  genius  has  been  founded  an  intellectual 
union  of  students,  dwelling  in  England,  Germany,  and 
America.  There  must  exist  an  affinity  between  the 
creative  mind  of  the  Poet  and  the  receptive  mind  of  a 
genial  critic  or  commentator.  The  men  who  find  delight 
in  studies  of  the  Poet's  writings  may  fairly  claim  some  true, 
though  perhaps  distant,  relationship  with  his  genius. 

Of  all  the  questions  that  have  engaged  the  attention 
of  Shakespearean  students,  the  most  difficult  may  here 
be  named : — Do  the  Poet's  writings  reveal  his  own 
general  views  of  life  ?  There  are  men  called  optimists 
who,  like  Paley,  believe  that,  throughout  the  world,  good 
predominates  over  evil.  On  the  other  hand,  men  have 
lived  whose  meditations  have  ended  with  a  belief  in  the 
predominance  of  physical  and  moral  evil.  They  have, 
moreover,  maintained  the  theory  that  evil  and  suffering 
are  inseparably  united  with  life  itself.  This  was  the 
doctrine  taught  by  the  founder  of  Buddhism.  Could 
Shakespeare  accept  such  teaching  as  that  ?  True  ;  he 
sounded  the  depths  of  misanthropy  in  "  Timon  of 
Athens,"  and  in  "  Hamlet"  are  found  cogitations  that 

"  sink  as  low 

As,  through  the  abysses  of  a  joyless  heart, 
The  heaviest  plummet  of  despair  can  go." 


44  ENGLISH   POETS. 

But  can  despair  of  mankind  be  ascribed  to  the  author 
of  the  "  Tempest,"  and  the  other  plays  ending  happily 
with  conciliation  ?  Could  he  have  sympathy,  stronger 
than  that  which  is  called  dramatic,  with  such  feelings  as 
have  driven  religious  men  into  drear  cells  in  desert  places, 
and  have  urged  them  to  make  as  slender  as  possible 
their  attachments  to  life  ? 

There  is  a  third  class  of  meditative  men.  They  see 
and  feel  the  beauty  and  the  happiness  of  life  in  its  most 
favourable  conditions,  while  they  are  not  unconscious  of 
the  misery  existing  in  the  world.  Their  consolation  is 
derived  from  a  faith  that  looks  beyond  the  boundary  of 
their  experience.  Does  this  third  class  include  the 
greatest  of  our  poets  ?  Or  is  it  possible  that,  in  all  his 
various  writings,  he  makes  no  personal  confession,  and 
gives  us  no  means  of  knowing  his  own  deepest  thoughts  ? 
Such  reserve  is  by  no  means  easily  maintained.  In  the 
series  of  "novels  and  romances  by  the  Author  of  Waver- 
ley,"  the  writer,  in  spite  of  all  his  caution,  told  the  world 
almost  everything  about  himself,  excepting  his  name. 
It  by  no  means  follows,  that  the  greatest  of  all  dramatic 
poets  would,  to  the  same  extent,  make  manifest  his  own 
character  ;  but  these  questions  remain  : — Did  he  make  no 
indirect  confession  ?  Is  there  none  discoverable,  in  the 
predominance  of  some  tendencies,  or  in  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  certain  thoughts  and  sentiments  ?  Much 
caution  will  be  required  if  any  attempt  be  made  to  find 
answers  to  such  questions. 


SHAKESPEARE.  45 

Of  all  the  complex  characters  found  in  the  Poet's 
plays,  Hamlet's  is  the  most  individual  and  most  mys- 
terious. Nevertheless,  it  seems  to  include  some  traits 
corresponding  with  expressions  that  may  be  accepted  as 
having  reference  to  the  Poet's  own  experience.  Nothing 
is  here  said  of  the  story  in  the  play.  The  traits  referred 
to  are  those  found  in  Hamlet's  own  character.  He  is  a 
youth  endowed  with  genius,  goodness  of  heart,  and 
general  amiability.  In  his  mind  a  vigorous  poetical 
imagination  is  combined  with  a  tendency  to  meditation. 
He  is  associated  with  players,  and  is  well  acquainted 
with  the  rules  of  dramatic  art.  His  character,  as  seen 
before  the  time  when  it  suffered  alteration,  is  described  in 
words  telling  us  that  he  is,  at  once  as  a  courtier,  a  scholar, 
and  a  soldier,  "the  observed  of  all  observers."  Above  all, 
he  is  a  devoted  son  and  a  most  faithful  friend.  The  aspi- 
rations of  a  youth  thus  endowed  are  naturally  such  as  can 
have  no  fulfilment,  save  in  a  world  as  bright  and  happy  as 
his  own  world  of  imagination.  From  that  Paradise,  made 
complete  by  the  presence  of  Ophelia,  he  is  suddenly  ex- 
pelled. The  brightness  of  the  early  hopes  there  cherished 
is  implied  in  the  words  telling  of  their  desolation  : — 

"  This  goodly  frame,  the  earth,  seems  to  me  a  sterile  promontory ; 
this  most  excellent  canopy,  the  air  (look  you)— this  brave,  o'erhang- 
ing  firmament — this  majestical  roof  fretted  with  golden  fire — why, 
it  appears  no  other  thing  to  me,  than  a  foul  and  pestilent  congre- 
gation of  vapours." 

The  irony  of  Hamlet,  his  long  discourse  on  acting  (in 


46  ENGLISH  POETS. 

which  he  seeks  diversion  of  his  grief),  his  bitter  words 
that  spring  from  kindness,  his  strange  speeches  to 
Ophelia,  whom  he  still  loves  :  all  are  expressions  of  a 
desolation  that,  for  him,  seems  spread  over  the  whole 
universe.  The  scene  in  the  churchyard  accords  well 
with  the  whole  tone  of  the  play,  and  indicates  that,  for 
Hamlet,  death  is  the  only  possible  way  to  rest.  His 
delay  in  executing  vengeance  on  the  guilty  arises  not 
from  weakness  but  from  kindness,  and  serves  to  prolong 
and  make  more  intense  his  own  suffering.  At  last, 
almost  without  an  exertion  of  his  own  will,  the  guilty 
fall,  and  Hamlet  dies.  There  is,  in  the  deaths  of  Hamlet 
and  Ophelia,  an  apparent  victory  of  evil.  But  no  stain 
has  fallen  upon  their  lives.  True  and  pure  as  when  they 
first  loved  each  other,  they  die.  Youth,  beauty,  hopes 
of  happiness  perish,  and  when  Hamlet,  expiring,  says 
"  The  rest  is  silence,"  he  leaves  his  friend  to  feel  a  grief 
"too  deep  for  tears."  At  the  same  time,  when  speak- 
ing of  "  this  harsh  world,"  he  implies  his  belief  in  another 
state  of  being,  and  so  the  conclusion  of  the  tragedy  calls 
the  mind  away  from  a  world  of  passion,  guilt,  and  grief, 
to  find  repose  in  resignation,  and  in  thoughts  of  a  life 
where  all  passions  are  stilled. 

The  conflict  of  good  with  evil  may  seem  a  thought  too 
old  and  commonplace  to  be  accepted  as  the  theme  in 
the  tragedy  of  "Hamlet."  But  the  Poet's  genius  is 
displayed  by  giving  to  that  central  idea  a  form  of 
development  that  may  be  called  intensely  individual. 


SHAKESPEARE.  47 

All  reference  to  the  story  must  be  set  aside  when  some 
traits  in  Hamlet's  character  are  considered  as  expressions 
of  the  Poet's  own  thoughts.  It  is  not  for  a  moment  to 
be  supposed  that  anything  like  Hamlet's  overwhelming 
sorrow  ever  formed  a  part  of  Shakespeare's  personal 
history.  But  it  is  more  than  probable,  that  the  clear 
daylight  of  his  intellectual  lifetime  was  preceded  by  a 
gloomy  and  stormy  night.  His  own  references  to  "  the 
spite  of  fortune,"  to  his  "  public  means  "  of  winning  a 
subsistence,  and  to  his  "  nature  subdued,"  by  the  emer- 
gencies of  the  stage:  these  are  passages  that  recall  to 
mind  some  of  Hamlet's  complaints.  Studies  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  London  Stage,  and  of  the  lives  of  players 
in  the  Elizabethan  time,  may  make  it  more  than  pro- 
bable that  the  Poet,  in  the  earlier  stages  of  his  career, 
was  painfully  conscious  of  a  hard  strife  existing  between 
his  own  ideas  and  his  actual  circumstances.  "  That  he 
stooped  to  accommodate  himself  to  the  people  is  suffi- 
ciently apparent  "  (says  Wordsworth),  "  and  one  of  the 
most  striking  proofs  of  his  almost  omnipotent  genius  is, 
that  he  could  turn  to  such  glorious  purpose  those  mate- 
rials which  the  prepossessions  of  the  age  compelled  him 
to  make  use  of.  Yet  even  this  marvellous  skill  appears 
not  to  have  been  enough  to  prevent  his  rivals  from  having 
some  advantage  over  him  in  public  estimation  ;  else  how 
can  we  account  for  passages  and  scenes  that  exist  in  his 
works,  unless  upon  a  supposition  that  some  of  the 
grossest  of  them — a  fact  which,  in  my  own  mind,  I  have 


48  ENGLISH   POETS. 

no  doubt  of — were  foisted  in  by  the   players,  for  the 
gratification  of  the  many?" 

The  theory  here  maintained  by  Wordsworth,  as  his 
own  belief,  might  be  confirmed  by  many  references 
to  dramatic  literature  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth.  There 
can  hardly  remain  a  doubt  that  Shakespeare  often  sighed 
when  he  found  that  his  own  deepest  thoughts  and  his 
most  refined  expressions  were  coldly  received  in  theatres, 
where  passages  in  which  he  stooped  so  low  as  to  follow 
Marlowe  and  Greene  were  hailed  with  thunders  of 
applause !  Regret,  following  such  instances  of  conde- 
scension, seems  to  be  expressed  in  such  lines  as  the 
following : — 

"  O  for  my  sake  do  thou  with  fortune  chide, 

The  guilty  goddess  of  my  harmful  deeds, 

That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide, 

Than  public  means,  which  public  manners  breeds. 

Thence  comes  it  that  my  name  receives  a  brand, 

And  almost  thence  my  nature  is  subdued 

To  what  it  works  in,  like  the  dyer's  hand." 

In  these  lines,  as  in  other  expressions,  read  with 
reference  to  facts  for  commentary,  may  be  found  evi- 
dence that  the  Poet,  during  one  part  of  his  life,  endured 
a  hard  struggle  with  adverse  circumstances.  How  could 
he  feel  himself  at  home  and  with  friends  in  his  early  asso- 
ciation with  such  players  as  are  represented  by  Robert 
Greene ;  with  men  who  could  call  the  Poet  "  an  upstart 
crow,"  classify  him  with  "apes  and  puppets,"  and  de- 


SHAKESPEARE.  49 

scribe  him  as  one  having  "  a  tiger's  heart  wrapped  in  a 
player's  hide?" 

Let  men  of  genius  be  patient  if  their  merits  are  not 
speedily  recognized.  Two  centuries  passed  away  before 
the  world  would  believe  that  all  the  eulogy  bestowed  by 
Ben  Jonson,  and  more  than  all  that  praise,  was  deserved 
by  his  cotemporary,  WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE. 


MILTON. 


OHN  MILTON  was  born  in  Bread  Street, 
Cheapside,  London,  on  the  ninth  of  Decem- 
ber, 1608.  There  exists  evidence  in  favour 
of  a  belief  that  the  Poet's  grandfather  was  a 
Catholic,  who  had  a  farm  near  Shotover,  in  Oxfordshire. 
In  the  same  district  there  lived — at  Forest  Hill,  not  far 
from  Oxford — a  Cavalier  family  bearing  the  name  Powell, 
and  most  probably  friendly  relations  were  maintained 
between  the  Miltons  and  the  Powells.  It  is  also  probable 
that  the  Poet's  father  was  disinherited  because  he  had 
declared  himself  a  Protestant.  He  went  to  London,  and 
there  established  himself  as  a  scrivener  ;  but  his  routine 
of  drawing  legal  contracts  was  often  relieved  by  a  taste 
for  vocal  music.  Some  lovers  of  choral  harmony  were 
numbered  among  his  friends,  and  he  composed  several 
psalm-tunes,  including  one  called  "  York,"  well  known 
in  our  own  times.  His  musical  taste  was  inherited  by 


52  ENGLISH   POETS. 

the  Poet,  whose  writings  abound  in  references  to  the 
power  of  harmony. 

When  twelve  years  old,  Milton  was  sent  to  St.  Paul's 
School,  and  it  is  clear  that,  during  his  four  years'  course 
of  studies,  he  was  very  diligent  in  learning.  At  school 
he  won  the  friendship  of  Charles  Diodati,  by  descent  on 
the  father's  side  an  Italian,  but  "  in  all  other  respects," 
as  Milton  says,  "  English."  About  seventeen  years  old, 
Milton  went  to  Cambridge  and  was  admitted  at  Christ 
Church  College.  There  his  favourite  studies  were  the 
writings  of  Greek  and  Roman  poets,  and  before  he  was 
twenty  years  old  he  wrote  Latin  elegies  deserving  high 
commendation.  The  scrivener  was  hardly  pleased  by 
his  son's  devotion  to  poetry,  and,  with  reference  to  some 
parental  reproof,  young  Milton  addressed  to  his  father 
some  Latin  verses,  reminding  him  that  music  and  poetry 
are  sisters.  "  How  can  you  wonder,"  said  the  writer, 
"  that  a  musician's  son  should  be  a  poet  ?  We  are  both 
inspired  by  Apollo."  That  this  belief— so  far  as  it  re- 
ferred to  himself — was  well  founded  was  soon  proved, 
when,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  he  wrote  in  English  his 
"  Hymn  on  the  Nativity,"  which  contains  all  the  finest 
elements  of  his  later  poetry.  One  stanza  is  enough  to 
show  that  at  that  age  he  could  write  in  a  sublime  strain. 
Thus  he  described  the  advent  of  "  the  Prince  of 
Peace"  : — 

"  No  war  or  battle's  sound 
Was  heard  the  world  around  ; 


MILTON.  53 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hung  ; 

The  hooked  chariot  stood 

Unstain'd  with  human  blood  ; 
The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng  ; 
And  kings  sat  still,  with  awful  eye, 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  Sovereign  Lord  was  by." 

A  sonnet,  dated  two  years  later  than  the  "  Hymn," 
tells  us  that  the  writer,  though  he  had  been  since  his 
twelfth  year  a  diligent  student,  still  retained  a  youthful 
appearance.  From  other  sources  we  learn  that  he  had  a 
fair  complexion,  with  luxuriant  light  brown  hair  and 
dark  grey  eyes,  and  that  his  voice  was  melodious.  In 
1632  he  graduated  as  M.A.,  and  soon  afterwards  left, 
without  any  regret,  the  flat  pastures  of  Cambridgeshire. 

Meanwhile  his  father,  retired  from  business,  had  left 
London,  and  had  gone  to  live  at  Horton,  a  village  near 
Windsor.  There,  in  rural  quietude,  the  Poet  continued 
his  extensive  course  of  reading,  including  the  best  litera- 
ture of  modern  European  languages,  and  there,  while 
dwelling  amid  green  fields  and  woodlands,  he  produced 
the  two  lyrical-descriptive  poems,  "  L' Allegro"  and  "  II 
Penseroso."  In  both  a  love  of  nature's  life  and  its  genial 
transitions  finds  expression  in  melodious  tones.  Each 
of  these  twin-poems  tells  the  story  of  a  day  spent  among 
woods,  fields,  and  hamlets,  and  each  tells  us  that  the 
colours  of  the  outward  world  are  partly  "  borrowed  from 
the  heart."  The  joyous  man,  "  L'Allegro,"  rises  early, 

"  To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight 
And,  singing,  startle  the  dull  night 


54  ENGLISH  POETS. 

From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  morn  doth  rise." 

Then,  coming  to  the  margin  of  a  wide  river,  he  sees 
on  the  opposite  bank  the  "  towers  and  battlements"  of  a 
stately  mansion 

"  Bosom'd  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where,  perhaps,  some  Beauty  lies 
The  cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes." 

.     From  the  mansion  and  the  dream  the  Poet  turns  away 
to  find  contentment  in  the  cottage 

"Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis,  met, 
Are  at  their  savoury  dinner  set 
Of  herbs,  and  other  country  messes 
Which  the  neat-handed  Phyllis  dresses." 

At  eventide,  leaving  peasants  dancing  in  the  shade, 
the  mirthful  man  returns  to  town,  there  to  find  pleasure 
in  the  pageantry  of  a  masque,  or  to  see  one  of  Shake- 
speare's comedies.  And  with  strains  of  Lydian  music 
the  day  comes  to  a  close. 

The  meditative  man,  "  II  Penseroso,"  also  loves  rural 
sights  and  sounds,  but  with  him  all  hues  and  tones  are 
made  to  harmonize  with  a  calm  and  pensive  mind.  He 
loves  the  subdued  light  of  grey  dawn,  and  from  noon- 
day brightness  retires  into  the  shade  of  a  wood.  Its 
shadows  remind  him  of  another  calm  place — the  cathe- 
dral. Then  follows  one  of  many  passages  in  which  Mil- 
ton writes  well  of  music  : — 


MILTON.  55 

"  There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 

To  the  full- voiced  quire  below, 

In  service  high  and  anthems  clear, 

As  may,  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear, 

Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 

And  bring  all  heaven  before  mine  eyes." 

The  thought  of  the  last  two  lines  is  expanded  in  an- 
other poem  on  "  Solemn  Music."  This  blending  of 
imagination  and  aesthetic  taste  with  religion  mostly 
belongs  to  minds  who  like  old  forms  better  than  new, 
dislike  hard  logic,  and  would  make  Faith  herself  the 
sister  of  Poetry.  Hence  it  might  be  imagined  that 
Milton,  while  living  at  Horton,  knew  nothing  of  stern 
feelings  afterwards  called  forth  by  controversy.  But  he 
refused  to  take  holy  orders  in  the  Church  of  England, 
and  (in  1637,  when  he  wrote  "Lycidas")  he  censured 
with  severity  the  lives  of  some  ordained  ministers  of  that 
Church. 

In  1634  the  masque  of  "  Comus  "  was  performed  in  the 
great  hall  of  Ludlow  Castle,  the  residence  of  John 
Egerton,  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  who  had  also  a  mansion 
and  a  park  not  far  from  Horton.  For  the  entertainment 
of  his  family — two  sons  and  eight  daughters — "Comus" 
was  written  by  Milton,  and  the  music  for  the  masque 
was  supplied  by  his  friend  Henry  Lawes.  The  story  is 
simple.  A  lady,  travelling  with  her  two  brothers,  is 
parted  from  them  and  loses  her  way  in  a  wood,  where, 
for  a  time,  she  is  detained  by  an  evil  enchanter  called 
Comus.  Her  restoration  to  her  brothers  is  ascribed  to 


56  ENGLISH  POETS. 

the  care  of  a  good  genius,  Thyrsis.  When  the  masque 
was  first  performed,  the  heroine's  part  was  taken  by  Lady 
Alice,  the  Earl's  youngest  daughter,  and  the  two  brothers 
were  represented  by  the  sons,  Lord  Brackley  and  Mr. 
Thomas  Egerton.  The  composer  of  the  music  took  the 
part  of  Thyrsis.  "  Comus"  is  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the 
Poet's  writings,  and  contains  some  parts  that  may  be 
described  as  the  quintessence  of  poetry.  There  are 
found  also  passages  of  declamation,  directed  against  vice 
and  having  no  reference  to  religious  controversy. 

Low  tones  of  controversial  thunder  are  heard  in  the 
elegy,  "  Lycidas,"  written  on  the  death  of  Edward  King, 
a  fellow  of  Christ  Church  and  a  candidate  for  holy  orders. 
When  about  twenty-five  years  old,  he  left  England  and 
went  to  spend  the  long  vacation  in  Ireland.  In  calm 
weather  and  near  the  coast  of  Wales  the  ship  in  which 
he  sailed  struck  on  a  rock,  and  all  on  board  perished. 
The  elegy,  blending  pastoral  scenes  with  religious 
thoughts,  contains  fine  poetry  and  one  satiric  passage. 
Milton  describes  the  deceased  as  a  faithful  shepherd  too 
soon  called  away,  and  leaving  the  sheep  to  be  neglected 
by  false  pastors,  who  "grate  out  lean  and  flashy  songs 
from  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw."  In  this  style  the 
Poet  describes  some  sermons  preached  in  his  time.  The 
words  are  noticeable,  as  containing  an  early  indication 
of  principles  afterwards  asserted  in  controversial  prose 
writings. 

Soon  after  the  publication  of  the  elegy,  Milton  left 


MILTON.  57 

England,  and,  in  the  course  of  about  fifteen  months, 
visited  Paris,  Florence,  Rome,  Naples,  and  Venice.  In 
the  neighbourhood  of  Florence,  he  paid  a  visit  to  the 
astronomer  Galileo,  who,  at  that  time,  was  old  and 
blind.  At  Naples  the  traveller  was  introduced  to  Manso, 
Marquis  of  Villa,  who  had  been  the  friend  of  Tasso,  and 
wrote  his  biography.  At  Rome  three  Latin  epigrams 
were  written  by  the  traveller,  to  express  his  admiration 
of  a  vocalist — Leonora  Baroni — whose  singing  he  ascribed 
to  divine  inspiration.  In  1639  he  returned  to  England, 
here  (as  he  said  afterwards),  "  to  take  the  trumpet  and 
blow  a  dolorous  or  jarring  blast  ;"  in  other  words,  to 
take  a  part  in  the  great  controversy  of  the  time. 

After  his  return  to  London  he  hired  part  of  a  house  in 
St.  Bride's  Churchyard,  but  soon  found  a  quieter  abode 
in  Aldersgate  Street,  where  he  employed  his  time  in 
teaching  two  nephews,  and  in  prosecuting  his  own 
studies.  All  previous  exercises  in  poetry  were  viewed 
as  preparations  for  the  task  of  writing  some  great  poem  ; 
perhaps  an  epic  on  "  King  Arthur,"  or  a  drama  on 
"  Paradise  Lost." 

Instead  of  a  great  poem,  there  came  forth,  in  1642, 
from  the  study  in  Aldersgate  Street,  a  pamphlet  on 
"Church  Government."  This  transition  from  poetry 
to  controversy  seems  like  a  sudden  desolation  pass- 
ing over  a  fine  landscape.  Instead  of  green  slopes 
and  wooded  banks  of  rivers,  there  appear  bare  rocks, 
withered  trees,  and  fields  devastated  by  hail-storms. 
I 


58  ENGLISH   POETS. 

The  Poet,  having  promised  that  he  would  sing  of  "  King 
Arthur,"  is  soon  afterwards  heard  blowing  "  a  dolorous 
blast"  on  a  trumpet.  His  change  of  purpose  must  be 
ascribed  to  the  general  movement  of  the  age.  Men  who, 
in  other  times,  might  have  quietly  employed  their  several 
gifts,  felt  themselves  compelled  to  take  some  part  or 
other  in  a  great  controversy.  Whatever  various  forms 
the  dispute  might  assume,  its  substance  was  an  assertion 
of  freedom,  in  opposition  to  traditional  claims  of  author- 
ity. About  ninety  years  before  the  second  Stuart 
reigned  in  England,  supreme  authority  over  the  Church 
had  been  claimed  by  the  throne,  and  it  was  never  in- 
tended that  this  should  be  followed  by  any  extension  of 
freedom.  But  the  notion  of  submission  to  one  absolute 
power  had  been  long  associated  with  the  claims  of  one 
dominant  Church,  and  when  that  Church  had  been  over- 
thrown there  arose,  in  Elizabeth's  reign,  the  question  : 
"  To  whom  shall  the  obedience  once  claimed  by  Rome 
be  yielded  ? "  "  To  the  Prelacy,  as  supported  by  Royal 
authority,"  was  the  reply  given  by  men  called  High 
Churchmen.  But  in  England,  as  in  Scotland,  the  power- 
ful party  of  Presbyterians  rejected,  at  once,  Episcopal 
Church  government  and  the  claims  of  Royal  supremacy. 
At  the  same  time  they  would  not  proceed  so  far  as  to 
grant  to  every  man  complete  religious  freedom.  This 
had  been  claimed,  in  Elizabeth's  reign,  by  men  whose 
followers  were,  in  Milton's  time,  called  Independents, 
and  of  their  principles  he  was  the  champion.  With  them 


MILTON.  59 

he  maintained  that  every  man  must  be  left  free  in  the 
interpretation  of  the  Bible,  and  that  every  congregation 
of  free  Christian  men  must  be  independent.  In  their 
contest  with  Prelacy  he  gave  aid  to  the  Presbyterians ; 
but,  when  they  would  grant  no  freedom  beyond  the  pale 
of  their  own  Church,  he  declared  himself  an  Independ- 
ent, and  said, — 

"  New  Presbyter  is  but  Old  Priest,  writ  large." 

In  a  word,  Milton  was  a  thorough-going  man  in  the 
assertion  of  principles  held  by  the  Independents,  though 
he  had  no  liking  for  some  of  their  peculiar  traits,  their 
scorn  of  culture,  and  their  austere  manners. 

While  the  demands  of  Presbyterians  and  Independents 
were  growing  more  and  more  urgent,  the  Stuart  kings, 
James  I.  and  his  son,  still  maintained  their  assertion  of 
Royal  supremacy.  That  subjects  could  not  be  free 
unless  they  had  a  share  in  the  government — this  notion, 
accepted  afterwards  as  an  axiom,  was  so  new  and  strange 
for  Charles  I.,  that  it  was  never  clearly  understood  by 
him.  Defeated  by  an  idea  of  which  he  could  not  esti- 
mate the  power,  he  made  a  declaration  of  innocence 
with  respect  to  charges  preferred  against  him,  and  then 
placed  his  head  upon  the  block.  Soon  after  his  death,  a 
book  entitled  "The  Royal  Image,"  written  by  a  chaplain 
named  Gauden,  was  accepted  as  expressing  the  late 
king's  own  sentiments,  and  served  to  awaken  a  widely 
spread  sympathy  with  his  fate.  In  reply  to  that  book 


60  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Milton  wrote  one  called  "  The  Image-Breaker,"  which 
was  published  (by  authority)  in  1649.  In  the  same 
year  he  was  called  upon  by  the  Council  of  State  to  write 
a  reply  to  a  book  written  by  a  French  scholar,  Claude 
de  Saumaise,  who  had  condemned  the  act  of  the  English 
regicides.  As  this  book,  written  in  Latin,  was  an  appeal 
to  the  minds  of  educated  men  throughout  Europe, 
Milton's  reply,  called  "  A  Defence  of  the  English  Peo- 
ple," was  also  written  in  Latin.  For  more  extended 
notices  of  Milton's  controversial  prose  writings,  reference 
is  given  to  a  biography,  in  which  his  public  life  is 
described  in  close  connection  with  the  history  of  his 
times.1  His  private  life,  during  the  time  of  the  great 
controversy,  may  be  briefly  noticed. 

In  1643,  when  the  Poet  was  thirty-five  years  old,  he 
formed  (or  renewed)  an  acquaintance  with  a  Royalist 
family — the  Powells,  resident  at  Forest  Hill,  near  Oxford 
— and  married  Mary  Powell,  who  was  only  eighteen 
years  old  when  she  left  home  and  came  to  London. 
The  change  was  not  agreeable,  and,  in  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks,  she  longed  to  see  again  her  relatives  in 
Oxfordshire.  Accordingly  their  invitation  was  readily 
accepted,  and  once  more  Mary  found  herself  surrounded 
with  rural  scenes,  and  enjoying  the  cheerful  society  of 
her  friends.  This  she  apparently  liked  better  than  her 
husband's  course  of  life,  which  one  of  his  nephews  called 

1  "A  Life  of  Milton,"  by  David  Masson.     3  vols.     1859-73. 


MILTON.  6 1 

"  philosophical."  Some  weeks  of  summer  passed  away, 
and  her  friends,  perhaps  incited  by  her  own  desire,  made 
earnest  suit  by  letter,  that  they  might  have  her  com- 
pany during  the  remainder  of  the  season.  Milton  made 
some  fruitless  attempts  to  call  back  his  young  wife,  and, 
when  he  despaired  of  success,  he  wrote  a  treatise,  main- 
taining that  uncongeniality  ought  to  be  considered  a  suffi- 
cient reason  for  divorce.  To  some  opponents  of  his 
thesis  he  replied  in  a  book  called  "  Tetrachordon,"  and, 
when  detraction  followed  its  publication,  he  wrote  two 
polemical  sonnets.  The  first  is  playful,  as  these  lines 
may  show : — 

"  Cries  the  stall-reader  :  '  Bless  us  !  what  a  word  on 
A  title-page  is  this  ! '    And  some,  in  file, 
Stand  spelling  false,  while  one  might  walk  to  Mile- 
End  Green." 

But  the  second  sonnet  begins  with  these  severe  lines: — 

"  I  did  but  prompt  the  age  to  quit  their  clogs, 
By  the  known  rules  of  ancient  liberty, 
When  straight  a  barbarous  noise  environs  me 
Of  owls  and  cuckoos,  asses,  apes,  and  dogs." 

These  expressions  of  anger  were  excited  by  contro- 
versy. A  far  higher  strain  of  writing  is  found  in  an 
eloquent  discourse,  published  in  1644,  and  called,  "  Areo- 
pagitica."  This  plea  for  the  freedom  of  the  press  is 
generally  accepted  as  the  finest  specimen  of  the  author's 
prose  writing. 

In   1645  the  Royalists  suffered  their  great  defeat  at 


62  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Naseby,  and  the  family  of  the  Powells  were,  soon  after- 
wards, placed  in  adverse  circumstances.  About  this 
time,  Milton  went  one  day  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  friend 
living  near  St.  Martin's-le-Grand,  and  was  there  surprised 
when  his  wife  suddenly  came  in  and  prayed  for  forgive- 
ness. It  was  immediately  granted,  and  she  returned  to 
share  once  more  his  "  philosophical  life  "  in  Aldersgate 
Street.  Assisted  by  his  brother  (who  was  a  Royalist  and 
a  lawyer),  Milton  gave  such  aid  to  the  Powell  family 
that  they  were  once  more  placed  in  a  good  position. 
His  wife  did  not  again  leave  him.  They  had  two 
daughters,  when  he  was  appointed,  in  1649,  foreign 
secretary  to  the  Council  of  State,  and  went  to  live  near 
Spring  Gardens,  Charing  Cross.  Thence  he  soon  re- 
moved to  19,  York  Street,  Westminster,  and  here  his 
wife,  after  giving  birth  to  a  third  daughter  (Deborah), 
died  in  May,  1652.  Two  years  later,  he  was  afflicted 
with  total  blindness.  No  disfigurement  appeared  in  the 
organs  of  sight ;  but  the  power  of  vision,  too  long 
strained  by  arduous  studies,  was  lost  for  ever.  In  a 
dramatic  poem  (written  at  a  later  time)  he  thus  gave 
expression  to  his  own  sense  of  privation  : — 

"  O  dark,  dark,  dark,  amid  the  blaze  of  noon, 
Irrecoverably  dark.     Total  eclipse, 
Without  all  hope  of  day  ! " 

Left  blind,  and  with  three  daughters  dependent  on 
his  care,  Milton,  four  years  after  the  decease  of  his  first 
wife,  married  Catherine,  daughter  of  Captain  Woodcock, 


MIL  TON.  63 

of  Hackney ;  but  hardly  more  than  a  year  had  passed 
away,  when  he  was  again  left  a  widower.  It  is  of  this 
second  bereavement  that  he  speaks  in  a  beautiful  sonnet, 
which  was  suggested  by  a  dream  : — 

"  My  late  espoused  saint 
***** 
Came,  vested  all  in  white,  pure  as  her  mind  ; 
Her  face  was  veil'd  ;  yet  to  my  fancied  sight 
Love,  sweetness,  goodness  in  her  person  shined 
So  clear,  as  in  no  face  with  more  delight. 
But  O  !  as  to  embrace  me  she  inclined, 
I  waked ;  she  fled  ;  and  day  brought  back  my  night." 

In  1657  Milton's  salary  was  reduced  to  half  its 
former  amount,  because  his  work  was  partly  done  by 
an  assistant,  who  was  paid  by  the  Government.  In 
the  following  year  Cromwell  died.  His  foreign  secre- 
tary, who  had  retired  into  private  life,  was  arrested  and 
imprisoned  in  1660;  but  was  soon  released,  and  lived 
for  a  short  time  in  Jewin  Street.  Thence  he  removed  to 
a  small  house  in  Artillery  Walk,  Bunhill  Fields,  where 
he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  days.  His  quiet  domestic 
habits  are  described  in  notices  left  by  his  youngest 
daughter,  and  by  friends  who  often  visited  him.  He 
was  strictly  temperate,  rose  early  in  summer  and  winter, 
and  dined  at  one.  In  the  morning  he  dictated,  or 
listened  while  some  friend  read  to  him,  and,  when  the 
reader  could  not  understand  a  passage,  the  Poet  would 
soon  make  it  clear.  These  studies  were  varied  by  play- 
ing sometimes  on  a  small  organ,  placed  behind  a  curtain 


64  ENGLISH   POETS. 

of  faded  green  cloth.  When  he  could  not  walk  out,  he 
took  exercise  in  a  swing  fixed  in  his  room.  His  evenings 
were  often  given  to  friendly  visitors,  in  whose  society  he 
was  generally  cheerful,  and  took  the  leading  part  in 
conversation.  After  an  early  supper  he  smoked  a  pipe, 
and  went  to  bed  at  nine. 

In  1663,  about  seven  years  after  the  decease  of  his 
second  wife,  Milton  married  a  third,  Elizabeth  Minshull, 
who  was  twenty-four  years  old.  The  change  thus  made 
in  their  domestic  circumstances  was  by  no  means  wel- 
come to  the  three  daughters.  Two  years  later,  when 
fear  of  plague  prevailed  in  London,  the  Poet  found  a 
rural  place  of  retreat  at  Chalfont,  in  Buckinghamshire, 
and  there,  before  the  close  of  the  year  1665,  his  epic 
poem,  "  Paradise  Lost,"  was  completed. 

The  production  of  this  work  by  a  blind  man  more  than 
fifty  years  old,  who  had  spent  in  controversial  prose 
writing  almost  twenty  years,  is  one  of  the  wonders  of 
literature.  In  1667  the  poem  was  published  in  a  small 
quarto  volume,  sold  for  three  shillings.  "  Paradise  Re- 
gained" and  the  drama  "  Samson  Agonistes  "  were  pub- 
lished together  in  1671,  and  three  years  later  the 
second  edition  of  "  Paradise  Lost"  appeared.  When  the 
greater  part  of  the  first  edition  was  sold,  the  Poet  received 
from  his  publisher  (Samuel  Simmons)  five  pounds,  and 
another  five  pounds  was  paid  after  the  appearance  of  a 
second  edition.  For  "  Paradise  Lost "  the  author  re- 
ceived only  ten  pounds,  but  retained  an  interest  in  the 


MILTON.  65 

copyright.  Thus  rewarded  by  the  world,  John  Milton 
died,  aged  sixty-six,  on  Sunday,  the  eighth  of  November, 
1674. 

Four  years  after  his  death,  his  widow  received  eight 
pounds  as  full  payment  for  her  remaining  interest  in  the 
copyright  of  "  Paradise  Lost."  She  inherited  a  fortune  of 
one  thousand  pounds,  out  of  which  she  gave  one  hundred 
pounds  to  each  of  Milton's  three  daughters.  Anne,  the 
oldest,  married  an  architect,  and  soon  afterwards  died. 
The  second  (Mary)  remained  single.  Deborah,  who 
married  a  weaver  (Mr.  Clarke,  of  Spitalfields),  was  the 
mother  of  ten  children. 

The  fame  of  "  Paradise  Lost"  was  not  rapidly  spread. 
Its  theme  had  attractions  for  readers  who  were  religious 
men,  and  this  partly  accounts  for  the  sale  of  thirteen 
hundred  copies  in  two  years.  But  hardly  more  than 
three  thousand  copies  were  sold  in  the  eleven  years 
following  its  first  publication,  though  in  that  time  such 
poems  as  were  written  by  Flatman,  Waller,  and  Norris 
found  many  admirers.  Addison  gave,  in  the  "  Spec- 
tator," a  series  of  papers  serving  to  call  attention  to  the 
epic,  and  its  reputation  was  increased  when  a  fine  edition 
was  published  under  the  patronage  of  Lord  Somers.  In 
Germany  translations  from  Milton  led,  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  to  a  revival  of  poetical  literature. 

Of  all  traits  in  Milton's  poetry  the  most  obvious  is 
affluence  of  imagery.     Before  his  sight  was  lost,  the  Poet, 
in  the  time  spent  at  Horton  and  in  the  course  of  his 
K 


66  ENGLISH   POETS. 

travels,  collected  and  stored  in  a  capacious  memory  his 
wealth  of  impressions  derived  from  nature,  and  to  these 
were  added  grand  conceptions  of  supernatural  agents, 
and  of  a  universe  inclosing  heaven,  hell,  chaos,  and  the 
earth.  For  these  latter  notions  he  was  partly  indebted 
to  the  old  theory  of  astronomy.  Galileo  had  already 
spread  a  new  theory  of  the  earth's  revolutions,  but  this 
was  not  accepted  by  Milton.  It  was  based  on  mathe- 
matical evidence,  but  could  supply  to  the  Poet's  imagin- 
ation nothing  better  than  a  series  of  monotonous  gyra- 
tions in  infinite  space,  and  he  was  therefore — with  respect 
to  imaginative  freedom — a  winner  by  his  want  of  science. 
For  him  the  earth  was  fixed.  Above  was  heaven,  or  the 
empyrean,  made  glorious  by  light  shining  forth  from  the 
immediate  presence  of  God.  Far  below,  and  separated 
from  earth  by  immeasurable  tracts  of  chaos,  lay  hell, 
with  enormous  gates  guarded  by  the  monstrous  forms  of 
Sin  and  Death.  Within  were  drear  regions  of  extreme 
heat  and  cold,  here  lighted  by  flames,  there  overspread 
with  twilight,  or  "darkness  visible."  Such  was  the 
gigantic  scenery  of  the  Poet's  world.  Of  all  the  agents 
introduced,  Satan  is  made  the  most  prominent.  The 
description  of  his  character  and  the  narration  of  his  expul- 
sion from  heaven  are  so  impressive,  that  they  have  been 
received,  by  many  readers,  as  passages  well  founded  on 
the  authority  of  the  Bible.  It  would  be  hard,  indeed,  to 
tell  when  and  by  whom  the  outline  of  Satan's  character 
was  first  drawn.  Its  rudiments  are  certainly  found  in 
poems  ascribed  to  a  monk — Caedmon,  who  lived  at 


MILTON.  67 

Whitby  in  the  seventh  century — and  there  can  hardly 
exist  a  doubt  that  Milton  had  read  those  poems,  or  knew 
something  of  them,  for  they  were  edited  by  Francis 
Junius,  who  was  one  of  the  Poet's  friends.  Like  Milton, 
"  The  Monk  of  Whitby  "  made  "  pride "  the  source  of 
evil,  and  it  is  noticeable  that  several  mystic  writers,  who 
never  heard  of  Caedmon,  used  words  like  his  own,  when 
they  wrote  on  the  same  mysterious  subject.  The  crea- 
tion of  Satan's  character  cannot,  with  respect  to  its 
rudiments,  be  fairly  ascribed  to  Milton ;  but  to  him  be- 
longs all  the  grandeur  of  representation  found  in  many 
passages,  of  which  the  following  is  an  example  : — 

.     .     .     "  As  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizontal,  misty  air, 
Shorn  of  his  beams  ;  or  from  behind  the  moon, 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs — darken'd  so,  yet  shone 
Above  them  all  the  Archangel ;  but  his  face 
Deep  scars  of  thunder  had  intrench'd,  and  care 
Sat  on  his  faded  cheek,  but  under  brows 
Of  dauntless  courage  and  considerate  pride, 
Waiting  revenge  :  cruel  his  eye,  but  cast 
Signs  of  remorse  and  passion,  to  behold 
The  fellows  of  his  crime — the  followers  rather — 
Far  other  once  beheld  in  bliss,  condemn'd 
For  ever  now  to  have  their  lot  in  pain. 
He  now  prepared 

To  speak  ;  whereat  their  doubled  ranks  they  bend 
From  wing  to  wing,  and  half  enclose  him  round, 
With  all  his  peers.     Attention  held  them  mute. 
Thrice  he  assay'd,  and  thrice,  in  spite  of  scorn, 
Tears,  such  as  angels  weep,  burst  forth." 


68  ENGLISH   POETS. 

After  descriptions  of  events  taking  place  in  hell  and 
in  chaos,  the  transition  to  scenes  in  Paradise  is  well  intro- 
duced by  an  invocation  addressed  to  Light.  This  pas- 
sage includes,  with  reference  to  loss  of  sight,  an  expression 
of  the  writer's  own  feelings  : — 

"  Hail,  holy  Light !  offspring  of  heaven,  first-born  ; 

Or  of  the  Eternal  co-eternal  beam, 

May  I  express  thee  unblamed  ?  since  God  is  light, 

And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 

Dwelt  from  eternity — dwelt  then  in  thee, 

Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  increate  ! 

But  thou 

Revisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 
To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn  ; 
So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quench'd  their  orbs, 
Or  dim  suffusion  veil'd." 

Readers  who  would  notice  how  the  Poet's  language 
becomes  energetic  or  melodious,  in  concert  with  his 
themes,  may  turn  from  the  sixth  book,  telling  of  war- 
fare in  heaven,  to  passages  describing  morning  and 
evening  in  Paradise.  Thus  the  Poet  tells  how  warfare 
in  heaven  was  brought  to  a  close  : — 

"  So  spake  the  Son,  and  into  terror  changed 
His  countenance,  too  severe  to  be  beheld, 
And  full  of  wrath  bent  on  his  enemies. 

Full  soon 

Among  them  he  arrived,  in  his  right  hand 
Grasping  ten  thousand  thunders,  which  he  sent 
Before  him,  such  as  in  their  souls  infix'd 
Plagues ;  they,  astonish'd,  all  resistance  lost, 
All  courage ;  down  their  idle  weapons  dropp'd. 


MILTON.  69 

O'er  shields  and  helms  and  helmed  heads  he  rode 
Of  thrones  and  mighty  seraphim  prostrate, 
That  wish'd  the  mountains  now  might  be  again 
Thrown  on  them,  as  a  shelter  from  his  ire." 

The  music  of  Milton's  verse  is  not  a  psalm  tune,  but  a 
fugue  of  ever-varying  modulations.  Its  more  harmonious 
tones  are  heard  in  such  lines  as  the  following,  taken  from 
the  Morning  Hymn  chanted  by  Adam  and  Eve  in  Para- 
dise : — 

"  His  praise  ye  winds,  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 

Breathe  soft  or  loud  !  and  wave  your  tops,  ye  pines  ! 

With  every  plant,  in  sign  of  worship  wave. 

Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble,  as  ye  flow, 

Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  His  praise  ! 

Join  voices,  all  ye  living  souls  !     Ye  birds 

That,  singing,  up  to  heaven-gate  ascend, 

Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  His  praise. 

Ye  that  in  waters  glide,  and  ye  that  walk 

The  earth  and  stately  tread,  or  lowly  creep, 

Witness,  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 

To  hill,  or  valley,  fountain,  or  fresh  shade, 

Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  His  praise." 

"  Paradise  Regained  "  has  been  cast  into  the  shade  by 
the  Poet's  greater  epic,  but  contains  some  beautiful 
passages  and  others  marked  by  great  energy  of  expres- 
sion. The  story  of  a  stormy  night,  as  given  in  the  fourth 
book,  is  enough  to  show  that  Milton's  imagination  was 
not  waning  when  he  wrote  his  second  epic ;  but  its  quiet, 
general  tone  accords  well  with  a  •  tradition  respecting 
its  origin.  Among  friends  whom  Milton  sometimes 
employed  as  readers,  one  named  Ellwood  was  a  Quaker. 


70  ENGLISH  POETS. 

He  read  with  pleasure  the  first  epic,  and  then,  address- 
ing the  author,  said  :  "  What  hast  thou  to  say  of  '  Para- 
dise Found  ?'  "  The  Poet  at  the  time  gave  no  answer. 
Afterwards,  when  the  plague  was  stayed  in  London,  and 
Milton  had  returned  from  Chalfont  to  his  home,  the 
Quaker  paid  him  another  visit,  and  found  that  he  had 
completed  a  second  epic.  He  showed  the  copy  to 
Ellwood,  and  said  :  "  This  is  owing  to  you,  for  you  put 
it  into  my  head  by  the  question  you  put  to  me  at 
Chalfont." 

"  Samson  Agonistes "  is,  in  form,  a  dramatic  poem, 
but  is  essentially  lyrical,  and  serves  partly  to  express 
the  writer's  personal  feelings  at  a  time  when  men  of  his 
own  party  were  as  powerless  as  the  blind  hero  Samson, 
a  prisoner  at  Gaza.  Some  passages  of  declamation 
against  "  Philistines "  were,  in  fact,  aimed  at  gay  cour- 
tiers in  the  time  when  Charles  the  Second  was  reigning. 

Milton's  poetical  works,  though  contained  in  one  small 
volume,  include  fine  traits  too  numerous  to  be  named 
in  this  short  essay.  His  learning,  animated  by  genius, 
could  blend  poetic  feeling  with  a  list  of  names,  as  may 
be  seen  in  the  first  book  of  "  Paradise  Lost,"  where  he 
musters  a  host  of  fallen  angels,  and  gives  to  each  of  their 
chieftains  "  a  local  habitation,"  as  well  as  a  name.  The 
theology  partly  implied  in  Milton's  poems,  and  main- 
tained in  one  of  his  prose  writings,  is  Arian.  His  phi- 
losophy may  be  generally  described  as  Platonic.  The 
apparent  materialism  of  the  sixth  book  in  the  first  epic 


MILTON.  71 

is  merely  imaginative,  as  the  author  tells  us  in  these 

lines  : — 

.    .     .     "  What  surmounts  the  reach 
Of  human  sense,  I  shall  delineate  so, 
By  likening  spiritual  to  corporal  forms, 
As  may  express  them  best." 

Milton's  theory  of  the  permission  of  evil  is  implied  in 
one  word,  for  he  maintains  that  angels  (like  man),  when 
created,  were  endowed  with  freedom.  In  the  first  epic, 
Adam,  yielding  willingly  to  one  temptation,  falls  and 
loses  Paradise ;  in  the  second,  One,  firmly  standing 
opposed  to  a  long  series  of  temptations,  regains  Paradise, 
not  for  himself  alone,  but  for  all  his  followers.  On  such 
themes  as  were  treated  by  Milton,  in  prose  and  verse,  the 
creeds  and  opinions  of  men  widely  differ ;  but  he  is  still 
honoured  by  men  of  several  parties,  because  they  know 
he  was  sincere  and  independent.  His  treatment  of  the 
Presbyterians,  when  they  had  power,  was  nobly  con- 
sistent with  his  own  principles.  His  lofty  spirit  of 
independence  made  him  deserving  of  praise  bestowed 
by  a  poet,  who  was  a  churchman  and  a  conservative. 
To  Milton  that  later  poet  addressed  the  line, 

"  Thy  soul  was  like  a  Star,  and  dwelt  apart." 
This  essay  must  not  conclude  without  some  reference 
to  the  Poet's  sonnets.  These  are  not  to  be  classed  with 
easily  composed  little  poems,  each  containing  fourteen 
lines  and  therefore  falsely  called  "sonnets."  Milton's 
sonnets,  though  truly  constructed  in  accordance  with  old 


72  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Italian  rules,  have  both  freedom  and  variety  of  expres- 
sion. One,  beginning  with  the  words,  "Avenge,  O  Lord  ! 
thy  slaughtered  saints,"  still  remains  unrivalled  for 
energy.  Another,  addressed  "to  the  Nightingale," 
might  be  quoted,  to  show  how  melodiously  words  may 
be  made  to  flow  in  a  very  difficult  form  of  composition  ; 
but  surely  every  lover  of  poetry  knows  by  heart  that 
sonnet.  Milton,  like  his  father,  was  a  lover  of  music. 
His  first  epic  contains  many  references  to  choral  har- 
mony, and  the  second  closes  with  "  heavenly  anthems," 
sung  by  "angelic  choirs."  He  grants  even  to  inmates 
of  Pandemonium  some  relief  in  strains  of  pensive 
melody,  and  the  evil  genius,  "Comus,"  thus  describes 
the  effect  of  a  beautiful  song  : — 

.     .    .     "  I  was  all  ear, 
And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a  soul 
Under  the  ribs  of  death." 

A  more  complete  expression  of  the  Poet's  intense  love 
of  harmony  is  given  in  the  following  lines,  written  after 
hearing  "  solemn  music  "  : — 

"  Blest  pair  of  Sirens,  pledges  of  heaven's  joy, 

Sphere-born,  harmonious  sisters,  Voice  and  Verse  ! 

Wed  your  divine  sounds  and  mix'd  power  employ, 

Dead  things  with  inbreathed  sense  able  to  pierce, 

And  to  our  high-raised  phantasy  present 

That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  concdnt, 

Aye  sung,  before  the  sapphire-colour'd  throne, 

To  Him  that  sits  thereon, 

With  saintly  shout  and  solemn  jubilee  ; 

Where  the  bright  seraphim,  in  burning  row, 


MILTON.  73 

Their  loud,  uplifted  angel-trumpets  blow, 

And  the  cherubic  host,  in  thousand  choirs, 

Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires, 

With  those  just  spirits  that  wear  victorious  palms, 

Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms 

Singing  everlastingly ; 

That  we,  on  earth,  with  undiscording  voice, 

May  rightly  answer  that  melodious  noise, 

As  once  we  did,  till  disproportioned  sin 

Jarred  against  nature's  chime  and,  with  harsh  din, 

Broke  the  fair  music  that  all  creatures  made 

To  their  great  Lord,  whose  love  their  motion  swayed 

In  perfect  diapason,  while  they  stood 

In  first  obedience  and  their  state  of  good. 

***** 
O,  may  we  soon  again  renew  that  song, 
And  keep  in  tune  with  heaven  !  till  God,  ere  long, 
To  His  celestial  concert  us  unite, 
To  live  with  Him,  and  sing,  in  endless  morn  of  light ! " 


ADDISON. 

HE  poetry  of  the  Elizabethan  time  may  be 
compared  to  a  region  lately  disforested. 
Signs  of  cultivation  are  everywhere  mingled 
with  vestiges  of  native  rudeness,  and  no- 
where is  found  such  trim  culture  as  belongs  to  a  small 
park  or  a  garden.  The  poetry  of  "  The  Augustan  age  " 
may  be  rather  compared  to  the  scenery  of  a  small  park. 
All  sights  and  sounds  belonging  to  a  ruder  world  are 
here  excluded,  and  of  roads  leading  to  towns  hardly  a 
trace  is  visible.  Gray  smoke,  rising  over  orchards,  shows 
that  a  hamlet  is  near;  but  the  huts  where  poor  men  dwell 
are  not  seen.  A  smooth  lawn  slopes  down  to  the  park, 
and,  beyond  the  south  boundary,  nothing  is  seen  save 
the  ridge  of  a  distant  blue  hill.  Such  placid  scenery 
may  represent  some  traits  of  poetical  literature  in  the 
time  to  which  the  writings  of  Addison  belong.  Com- 
pared with  the  poetry  of  Shakespeare's  time,  the  lite- 
rature mostly  admired  during  the  reigns  of  King  William 


76  ENGLISH  POETS. 

III.  and  Queen  Anne  may  be  called  narrow  or  exclusive; 
but  it  was  by  no  means  destitute  of  natural  elegance  and 
beauty. 

JOSEPH  ADDISON,  son  of  Lancelot  Addison,  Dean  of 
Lichfield,  was  born  at  Milston  (Wilts),  on  the  1st  of 
May,  1672.  After  some  preparatory  training  at  Lich- 
field, he  went  to  the  Charterhouse,  where  Richard  Steele 
(born  in  1672)  was  his  schoolfellow  and  friend.  They 
were  again  associated  as  students  at  Oxford,  and,  in 
later  life,  as  writers  in  "  The  Tatler "  and  "  The  Spec- 
tator," so  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  think  of  Addi- 
son apart  from  his  faithful  friend  Richard  Steele. 

At  Oxford  Addison  wrote  Latin  and  English  verses, 
translated  the  greater  part  of  Virgil's  fourth  "  Georgic," 
and  published,  in  Dryden's  "Miscellany"  (1694),  some 
lines  noticeable  as  indicating  the  literary  taste  of  the  age. 
In  these  lines  the  young  author,  giving  as  he  says  "  an 
account  of  the  greatest  English  poets,"  speaks  without 
any  great  respect  of  Chaucer,  says  nothing  of  Shake- 
speare, and  thus  describes  the  poetry  of  Spenser : — 

"  Old  Spenser  next,  warmed  with  poetic  rage, 
In  ancient  tales  amused  a  barbarous  age  ; 
An  age  that,  yet  uncultivate  and  rude, 
Where'er  the  poet's  fancy  led,  pursued 
Through  pathless  fields  and  unfrequented  floods, 
To  dens  of  dragons  and  enchanted  woods. 
But  now  the  mystic  tale,  that  pleased  of  yore, 
Can  charm  an  understanding  age  no  more  ; 
The  long-spun  allegories  fulsome  grow, 
While  the  dull  moral  lies  too  plain  below." 


ADDIS  ON.  77 

When  these  lines  were  written,  Shakespeare's  name 
was  by  no  means  dominant.  Dryden,  the  greatest  of 
all  writers  then  living,  was  old,  and  such  men  as  Garth, 
Blackmore,  and  Pomfret  were  called  poets.  The  so-called 
"  Augustan  Age,"  or  Queen  Anne's  reign  (1702-14),  was 
introduced  by  a  rather  dreary  time  when  there  was 
found,  among  the  younger  men,  no  better  poet  than 
Prior.  During  that  interval,  literary  men  were  mostly 
dependent  on  aid  bestowed  by  such  patrons  as  the  Earl 
of  Dorset,  Lord  Somers,  and  Charles  Montague,  after- 
wards made  Lord  Halifax. 

Addison,  who  had  intended  to  take  holy  orders  in  the 
Church  of  England,  was  soon  diverted  from  that  course 
by  hopes  of  secular  promotion.  When  twenty-three 
years  old,  he  addressed  to  King  William  some  verses  on 
the  "  Capture  of  Namur,"  and  these  were  soon  followed 
by  a  Latin  poem  on  the  "  Peace  of  Ryswick,"  which  was 
sent  to  Charles  Montague,  and  gained  his  patronage. 
Through  his  recommendation,  the  author  received  a 
pension  of  .£300,  which  enabled  him  to  make  a  tour  in 
Europe.  In  France  he  stayed  some  time  to  learn  the 
language  of  the  nation  then  dominant  in  literature,  and 
wrote  letters  pleasantly  describing  the  manners  of  the 
people,  as  in  the  following  passage : — 

"  They  are  the  happiest  nation  in  the  world.  Tis  not  in  the 
power  of  want  or  slavery  to  make  'em  miserable.  There  is  nothing 
to  be  met  with  in  the  country  but  mirth  and  poverty.  Every  one 
sings,  laughs,  and  starves.  Their  conversation  is  generally  agree- 


78  ENGLISH  POETS. 

able ;  for,  if  they  have  any  wit  or  sense,  they  are  sure  to  show  it. 
They  never  mend  upon  a  second  meeting,  but  use  all  the  freedom 
and  familiarity  at  first  sight  that  a  long  intimacy  or  abundance  of 
wine  can  scarce  draw  from  an  Englishman." 

The  last  sentence  has  an  unconscious  allusion  to  the 
writer's  own  reserve.  No  enthusiasm  was  kindled  when 
he  crossed  the  Alps.  He  tells  us  only  that  it  was  a 
troublesome  journey,  that  made  his  head  giddy,  and  that 
he  felt  delight  when  once  more  he  saw  level  ground. 
His  thankfulness  for  escape  from  a  storm  in  the  Gulf  of 
Genoa  was  subsequently  expressed  in  one  of  his  hymns. 
There  was  no  peculiarity  in  his  indifference  respecting 
Alpine  views.  Other  travellers  of  his  time  might  have 
expressed  the  same  feeling.  Among  the  poets  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  Gray  was  the  first  who  spoke  of 
nature  in  tones  harmonizing  with  Wordsworth's  enthu- 
siasm. From  Italy  the  traveller  sent  to  his  friend,  Lord 
Halifax,  a  versified  "  letter,"  in  which  laudation  of  the 
Italian  climate  led  to  higher  praise  of  English  liberty  : — 

"  'Tis  liberty  that  crowns  Britannia's  isle 

And  makes  her  barren  rocks  and  her  bleak  mountains  smile." 

Some  passages  in  this  "Letter  from  Italy"  may  re- 
mind a  reader  of  a  finer  poem,  Goldsmith's  "  Traveller." 
In  1702,  when  Addison  hoped  to  obtain  some  diplomatic 
appointment,  a  change  of  government  deprived  him  of 
his  pension.  In  Italy  he  had  collected  materials  for  his 
"  Dialogues  on  the  Uses  of  Ancient  Medals,"  of  which 
he  had  written  the  outlines  when  he  visited  Vienna  in 


ADD  IS  ON.  79 

1702.  In  the  following  summer  he  went  to  Hamburg, 
and  in  the  autumn  returned  to  London,  where,  for  some 
time,  he  hired  apartments  in  the  Haymarket.  There  he 
was  soon  found  by  his  energetic  friend  Steele,  who  had 
made  himself  captain  of  a  regiment  of  Fusileers,  had 
written  a  book  called  "The  Christian  Hero,"  and  was 
employed  in  writing  a  comedy.  He  proposed  that 
Addison,  whose  income  was  small,  should  give  assistance 
in  writing  some  work  that  should  serve  as  a  monument 
of  their  friendship ;  but  this  was  not  carried  into  effect 
until  1709,  when  "The  Tatler"  appeared.  Meanwhile 
Lord  Halifax  gained  for  Addison  a  place  in  the  Excise. 
The  Poet's  second  time  of  prosperity  began  in  1704, 
when  London  was  full  of  rejoicing  for  a  great  victory, 
and  he  wrote  soon  afterwards  his  poem  called  "The 
Campaign."  The  following  passage,  referring  to  Marl- 
borough's  generalship  and  to  a  recent  storm,  was  greatly 
admired : — 

"  Great  Marlbro's  mighty  soul 
Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 
And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage  : 
So,  when  an  angel,  by  divine  command, 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land — 
Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  passed — 
Calm  and  serene,  he  drives  the  furious  blast, 
And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform, 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm." 

In  1706,  when  Addison  was  made  Under-Secretary  of 
State,  he  produced  an  opera,  "  Rosamond,"  so  contrived 


So  ENGLISH   POETS. 

that  it  might  be  accepted  as  another  compliment  paid  to 
the  great  general.  About  this  time  and  afterwards,  the 
Poet  partly  employed  his  leisure  in  giving  lessons  to  a 
boy,  ten  years  old,  son  of  the  Countess-Dowager  of 
Warwick.  His  introduction  to  her  family  subsequently 
led  the  tutor  to  cherish  thoughts  by  which  his  peace  of 
mind  was  disturbed.  He  was  returned,  in  1708,  member 
of  Parliament  for  Malmesbury,  but  had  no  success  in 
the  House.  He  had  neither  the  nerve  and  readiness  of 
a  good  debater,  nor  the  volubility,  vox  et  prceterea  nihil, 
of  a  commonplace  orator.  He  was  in  fact  a  silent 
member.  Meanwhile  his  friend  Steele,  whose  author- 
ship always  had  some  reference  to  practical  life,  had 
been  thinking  of  starting  a  journal,  and  in  1709  he 
brought  out  "  The  Tatler,"  to  which  Addison  was  a 
contributor.  The  two  fellow-workers  were  alike  in  their 
good  purpose  ;  but  Steele  was  impatient  of  restraint, 
and  wrote  against  the  minister  Harley.  The  result  was 
that,  in  1711,  "  The  Tatler  "  came  to  an  end  ;  but  it  was 
soon  followed  by  the  appearance  of  another  journal, 
"The  Spectator,"  which  did  not  meddle  with  political 
affairs.  In  this  periodical  Steele  pleaded  earnestly  for 
the  best  interests  of  society,  while  his  friend  treated  both 
ethics  and  minor  morals  in  his  own  graceful  style,  blend- 
ing purity  of  sentiment  with  refined  humour.  Their 
didactic  writing  was  relieved  by  the  introduction  of 
several  imaginary  characters,  whose  various  traits  were 
represented  with  some  dramatic  skill.  Of  all  these  cha- 


ADDISON.  8 1 

racters  the  most  complete  and  life-like,  "  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley,"  was  mainly  created  by  Addison.  It  was,  in 
fact,  his  greatest  success  ;  but  this  was  by  no  means 
believed  in  1713,  when  his  tragedy  "  Cato  "  appeared. 
All  things  conspired  to  make  complete  the  success  of 
the  drama.  It  was  well  studied,  correctly  written,  and 
in  tone  was  accordant  with  the  time  when  Whigs  and 
Tories  were  alike  professionally  "patriotic."  Pope,  a 
young  poet,  whose  reputation  was  already  established, 
wrote  the  prologue.  Bolingbroke  pretended  to  like  the 
play,  though  it  was  admired  by  his  own  political  foes 
Last,  not  least,  the  author  gave  the  profits  of  perform- 
ance to  the  players,  so  that  they  acted  with  all  the  zeal 
of  self-love.  One  fierce  critic,  John  Dennis,  was  bold 
enough  to  attack  "Cato;"  but  he  was  soon  severely 
treated,  not  by  Addison,  but  by  a  young  poet  who  had  his 
own  private  reasons  for  disliking  Dennis.  With  grave 
and  audacious  humour,  Pope  replied  by  publishing  "  an 
Account  of  the  Frenzy  of  J.  D.,"  and  ascribed  the  author- 
ship of  the  tract  to  a  Dr.  Norris,  noted  for  his  skill  in 
the  management  of  insane  patients.  Though  the  blow 
seemed  aimed  in  defence  of  his  own  play,  Addison  liked 
not  Pope's  choice  of  a  weapon,  and  would  not  in  any 
way  sanction  the  publication.  At  that  time  he  could 
not  dream  that  his  own  character  would,  some  day,  be 
attacked  by  the  satirist. 

Richard  Steele,  in  1713,  started  another  journal,  "The 
Guardian,"  as  a  successor  to  "  The  Spectator  ;  "  but  the 
M 


82  ENGLISH   POETS. 

new  adventure  came  to  an  end  before  the  close  of  the 
year.  He  was  soon  afterwards  actively  engaged  in  politics ; 
was  returned  member  for  Stockbridge,  and  spent  or  gave 
freely  his  own  money,  with  a  considerable  sum  lent  by 
Addison,  who  was  at  last  compelled  to  remind  his  gene- 
rous friend  that  debts  ought  to  be  paid.  This  did  not  se- 
riously disturb  their  friendship.  Ultimately  Steele  paid 
all  his  creditors.  In  1715  he  was  returned  member 
for  Boroughbridge,  received  the  honour  of  knighthood, 
and  was  made  Governor  of  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  There 
he  brought  out  a  slight  comedy  written  by  Addison,  and 
called  "  The  Drummer,"  but,  like  the  opera  "  Rosa- 
mond," the  comedy  proved  a  failure  on  the  stage.  In 
the  principal  scene  a  so-called  "  atheist "  is  haunted,  as 
he  imagines,  by  the  ghost  of  a  drummer,  and  is  soon 
frightened  into  some  sort  of  belief. 

In  the  following  year  (1716)  Addison  was  accepted  as 
her  husband  by  the  Countess-Dowager  of  Warwick,  and 
went  to  live  at  Holland  House,  Kensington.  So  far  his 
life,  as  compared  with  the  lives  of  many  scholars  and 
poets,  had  been  prosperous  ;  but  he  had  dreamed  some- 
times that  he  might  be  happier.  The  dream  was  not 
fulfilled  when  he  married.  Soon  afterwards  he  was  ap- 
pointed colleague  of  Lord  Sunderland,  Secretary  of 
State  ;  but  failing  health  led  to  Addison's  retirement 
from  office  in  1718,  and  he  died  on  the  seventeenth  of 
June  in  the  following  year.  His  friend  Richard  Steele 
died  in  1729. 


ADDISON.  83 

The  true  character  of  Joseph  Addison  may  be  read  in 
his  works.  In  private  life  his  general  tone  was  quiet 
and  reserved  ;  he  required  some  excitement  to  make  him 
fluent  in  conversation,  and,  while  ready  to  praise  his  own 
intimate  friends,  he  received  with  pleasure  the  praises  be- 
stowed by  them.  He  retained  throughout  his  lifetime  the 
friendship  of  Steele  and  Swift,  and  against  this  favourable 
evidence  there  is  hardly  anything  to  be  adduced,  save 
one  remarkable  passage  in  Pope's  satirical  writings.  It 
cannot  be  forgotten  ;  for  Pope  never  wrote  satire  more 
polished  and  elegant  than  the  following  lines  : — 

"  Were  there  one  whose  fires 
True  genius  kindles,  and  fair  fame  inspires ; 
Blest  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to  please, 
And  born  to  write,  converse  and  live  with  ease  : 
Should  such  a  man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
Bear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the  throne, 
View  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous  eyes, 
And  hate  for  arts  that  caused  himself  to  rise ; 
Damn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil  leer, 
And,  without  sneering,  teach  the  rest  to  sneer; 
Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Just  hint  a  fault  and  hesitate  dislike ; 
Alike  reserved,  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
A  timorous  foe,  and  a  suspicious  friend ; 
Dreading  even  fools,  by  flatterers  besieged, 
And  so  obliging  that  he  ne'er  obliged ; 
Like  Cato,  give  his  little  senate  laws, 
And  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause ; 
While  wits  and  Templars  every  sentence  raise, 
And  wonder  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise — 
Who  but  must  laugh,  if  such  a  man  there  be  ? 
Who  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  were  he  ?" 


84  ENGLISH  POETS. 

In  Addison's  defence  some  facts  may  here  be  named. 
When  Pope's  first  work  of  great  merit,  the  "  Essay  on 
Criticism,"  had  appeared,  it  was  highly  commended  by 
Addison,  who  called  "  The  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  (in  its 
first  form)  an  exquisite  piece,  and  at  a  later  time  ex- 
pressed a  belief  that  Pope's  translation  of  Homer  would 
rival  Dryden's  Virgil.  It  should  be  also  noticed  that, 
when  the  first  four  books  of  Pope's  translation  were  pub- 
lished, there  appeared  almost  simultaneously  the  first 
book  of  the  "  Iliad,"  translated  by  Addison's  intimate 
friend,  Tickell,  who  gracefully  retired  from  apparent 
rivalry  with  Pope.  But  comparisons  followed,  of  course, 
and  Addison,  talking  with  friends  at  a  coffee-house,  said 
both  the  translations  were  well  done,  but  Tickell's  was 
more  like  Homer.  On  the  other  side  the  facts  seem 
weak.  Tickell  (who  was  supposed  to  represent  his 
friend's  opinions)  preferred  the  pastorals  written  by 
Ambrose  Philips  to  those  written  by  Pope,  "  when  he 
was  sixteen  years  old."  Addison,  while  praising  "  The 
Rape  of  the  Lock,"  would  not  recommend  the  poet  to 
extend  that  fine  work  of  fancy.  Such  trifles  seem  in- 
sufficient to  justify  Pope's  satirical  sketch.  If  Addison 
failed  to  recognize  fully  Pope's  genius,  it  should  be  re- 
membered that  "The  Dunciad,"  the  "Imitations  of 
Horace,"  "The  Essay  on  Man," — all  the  latter  poet's 
best  ethical  and  satirical  writings — appeared  after  the 
death  of  Addison.  As  Pope's  severe  lines  have  been 
given,  it  is  fair  to  place  in  contrast  with  them  other  lines 


ADDIS  ON.  85 

on  the  same  subject.  These  are  found  in  an  elegy 
written  by  Tickell,  whose  "highest  honour,"  as  he  said, 
was  that  he  had  been  Addison's  friend  : — 

"If  pensive  to  the  rural  shades  I  rove, 
His  shape  o'ertakes  me  in  the  lonely  grove; 
'Twas  there  of  just  and  good  he  reasoned  strong, 
Cleared  some  great  truth,  or  raised  some  serious  song ; 
There,  patient,  showed  us  the  wise  course  to  steer, 
A  candid  censor  and  a  friend  severe ; 
There  taught  us  how  to  live  ;  and — oh  !  too  high 
The  price  for  knowledge — taught  us  how  to  die." 

So  much  has  been  said  in  praise  of  Addison's  style 
that  hardly  a  word  can  be  added.  Johnson's  well-known 
commendation  is  the  more  remarkable,  as  it  implies 
censure  of  his  own  Latin-English,  aptly  called  "John- 
sonese." With  respect  to  graceful  ease  and  art  in 
which  there  seems  to  be  no  art,  Oliver  Goldsmith  and 
Washington  Irving  might  be  called  followers  of  Addison. 
But  the  temper  of  his  writings  is  even  more  admirable 
than  their  style.  He  reproves  with  genial  and  sometimes 
playful  kindness,  and  when  he  teaches  never  assumes 
the  grave  and  dogmatic  air  of  "Sir  Oracle."  His  placid 
religion  was  naturally  associated  with  hopeful  views  of 
human  life,  and  might  be  called  optimistic  rather  than 
comprehensive.  Of  such  hard  questions  and  obstinate 
doubts  as  have  vexed  greater  and  less  harmonious 
minds,  he  perhaps  knew  but  little.  His  firm  belief  in  a 
Divine  Providence  is  expressed  in  an  essay,  remarkable 
as  containing  ideas  afterwards  expanded  by  Pope,  in  one 


86  ENGLISH  POETS. 

of  his  most  eloquent  passages ;  though  there  is  no  reason 
for  suspecting  that  the  ideas  were  borrowed  by  the  later 
writer.  The  passage  (in  the  "  Essay  on  Man  ")  begins 
with  these  well-known  lines — 

"  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  soul." 

Addison's  essay,  entitled  "The  Works  of  Creation," 
begins  with  the  following  sentence  :  "  I  was  yesterday 
about  sunset  walking  in  the  open  fields,  until  the  night 
insensibly  fell  upon  me."  The  whole  of  the  essay  may 
be  noticed  as  a  fair  specimen  of  the  author's  more 
elevated  prose-style.  As  a  writer  of  hymns  he,  with 
pure  taste,  avoided  the  error  of  several  earlier  authors, 
whose  pious  verses  were  too  often  disfigured  by  the  use 
of  quaint  or  low  expressions.  Of  his  love  of  simple 
words  an  example  may  be  given  in  a  few  stanzas,  having 
reference  to  his  own  experience,  at  a  time  when  he  was 
exposed  to  the  fury  of  a  storm  at  sea  : — 

"  The  storm  was  laid,  the  winds  retired, 

Obedient  to  thy  will ; 
The  sea,  that  roared  at  thy  command, 

At  thy  command  was  still. 

"  In  midst  of  dangers,  fears  and  death, 

Thy  goodness  I'll  adore  ; 
I'll  praise  thee  for  thy  mercies  past, 

And  humbly  hope  for  more. 

"  My  life,  if  thou  preserv'st  my  life, 

Thy  sacrifice  shall  be  ; 
And  death,  if  death  must  be  my  doom, 

Shall  join  my  soul  to  thee. 


ADDISON.  87 

The  prose-writings  of  Addison  include — besides  those 
already  noticed— a  critique  on  "Paradise  Lost,"  a  series 
of  essays  on  "  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,"  and  a 
work  on  the  "  Evidences  of  Christianity."  His  prose 
contains  more  wealth  of  thought  and  illustration  than 
can  be  found  in  all  his  verses.  "  Cato  "  is  a  correctly 
written  tragedy,  but  is  cold  and  almost  destitute  of 
dramatic  life.  On  the  other  hand,  "Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley"  is  a  poem  in  prose,  and  surely  must  have 
been  written  by  a  poet  who  was,  moreover,  an  amiable 
man.  All  the  papers  containing  the  portraiture  of  that 
"  English  Gentleman  of  the  Olden  Time  "  should  be  read 
consecutively ;  but  a  short  quotation  may  here  serve  as  one 
specimen  of  the  author's  quiet  and  genial  humour': — 

"  I  am  always  well  pleased  with  a  country  Sunday,  and  think,  if 
keeping  holy  the  seventh  day  were  only  a  human  institution,  it 
would  be  the  best  method  that  could  have  been  thought  of  for  the 
polishing  and  civilizing  of  mankind.  It  is  certain  the  country  peo- 
ple would  soon  degenerate  into  a  kind  of  savages  and  barbarians, 
were  there  not  such  frequent  returns  of  a  stated  time,  in  which  the 
whole  village  meet  together  with  their  best  faces,  and  in  their 
cleanliest  habits,  to  converse  with  one  another  upon  different  sub- 
jects, hear  their  duties  explained  to  them,  and  join  together  in 
adoration  of  the  Supreme  Being. 

"  My  friend  Sir  Roger,  being  a  good  churchman,  has  beautified 
the  inside  of  his  church  with  several  texts  of  his  own  choosing.  He 
has  likewise  given  a  handsome  pulpit-cloth,  and  railed  in  the  com- 
munion-table at  his  own  expense.  He  has  often  told  me,  that  at 
his  coming  to  his  estate  he  found  his  parishioners  very  irregular  : 
and  that  in  order  to  make  them  kneel,  and  join  in  the  responses, 
he  gave  every  one  of  them  a  hassock  and  a  Common  Prayer  Book  ; 
and  at  the  same  time  employed  an  itinerant  singing-master,  who 


88  ENGLISH   POETS. 

goes  about  the  country  for  that  purpose,  to  instruct  them  rightly  in 
the  tunes  of  the  Psalms,  upon  which  they  now  very  much  value 
themselves,  and  indeed  outdo  most  of  the  country  churches  that  I 
have  ever  heard. 

"  As  Sir  Roger  is  landlord  to  the  whole  congregation,  he  keeps 
them  in  very  good  order,  and  will  suffer  nobody  to  sleep  in  it  be- 
sides himself ;  for  if  by  chance  he  has  been  surprised  into  a  short 
nap  at  sermon,  upon  recovering  out  of  it  he  stands  up  and  looks 
about  him,  and  if  he  sees  anybody  else  nodding,  either  wakes  them 
himself,  or  sends  his  servants  to  them.  Several  other  of  the  old 
knight's  particularities  break  out  upon  these  occasions.  Sometimes 
he  will  be  lengthening  out  a  verse  in  the  singing  Psalms,  half  a 
minute  after  the  rest  of  the  congregation  have  done  with  it  ;  some- 
times, when  he  is  pleased  with  the  matter  of  his  devotion,  he  pro- 
nounces Amen  three  or  four  times  in  the  same  prayer ;  and  some- 
times stands  up  when  everybody  else  is  upon  their  knees,  to  count 
the  congregation,  or  see  if  any  of  his  tenants  are  missing. 

"  I  was  yesterday  very  much  surprised  to  hear  my  old  friend,  in 
the  midst  of  the  service,  calling  out  to  one  John  Matthews  to  mind 
what  he  was  about,  and  not  disturb  the  congregation.  This  John 
Matthews  it  seems  is  remarkable  for  being  an  idle  fellow,  and  at 
that  time  was  kicking  his  heels  for  his  diversion.  This  authority 
of  the  knight,  though  exerted  in  that  odd  manner  which  accompa- 
nies him  in  all  the  circumstances  of  life,  has  a  very  good  effect  upon 
the  parish,  who  are  not  polite  enough  to  see  anything  ridiculous  in 
his  behaviour  ;  besides  that  the  general  good  sense  and  worthiness 
of  his  character  make  his  friends  observe  these  little  singularities 
as  foils  that  rather  set  off  than  blemish  his  good  qualities." 


POPE. 

NECDOTES  of  poets  and  other  authors 
have  too  often  served  as  substitutes  for 
studies  of  their  writings.  A  great  dramatic 
poet,  like  Shakespeare,  must  have  a  mar- 
vellous power  of  concealing  himself  in  the  midst  of  the 
world  he  creates.  But  this  does  not  contradict  the 
general  truth — that  the  character  of  a  great  and  sincere 
poet  will  be  found  in  his  works  taken  as  a  whole.  Ex- 
amples are  indicated  by  the  names,  Horace,  Burns, 
Wordsworth,  Byron,  and  to  these  may  be  added  Pope. 

It  does  not  follow,  because  a  man  is  a  poet,  that  he 
can  be  nothing  else.  He  may  be  a  naturalist,  or  a 
moralist,  or  may  forget  poetry  and  lose  himself  in  ab- 
stract theory.  The  development  of  imaginative  genius 
may  be  a  chief  aim,  or  may  be  made  subordinate  to  the 
culture  of  other  faculties.  A  man  born  a  poet  may  write 
books  in  which  faithful  description  and  clear  logic,  or  wit 
N 


9o  ENGLISH  POETS. 

and  humour,  may  be  generally  made  more  prominent 
than  poetic  imagination ;  though  this  faculty  may  give 
life  and  power  to  the  best  passages. 

Pope  was  a  poet  ;  but  he  mostly  employed  his  talents 
in  writing  satires  and  moral  essays.  It  was  his  boast — 

"  That  not  in  fancy's  maze  he  wandered  long, 
But  stooped  to  truth,  and  moralized  his  song." 

In  his  later  years,  the  rationalism  of  the  time  led  him 
to  write,  in  verse,  on  such  themes  as  natural  theology 
and  optimism.  His  error  was  great,  and  he  was  himself 
half-conscious  of  it.  But  in  his  satires,  moral  essays,  and 
reasonings  about  good  and  evil,  Pope  brightened  didactic 
verse  with  the  light  of  poetry.  He  installed  himself  as 
a  professor  of  ethics  and  wrote  lectures  in  verse ;  but 
these  lectures  were,  almost  everywhere,  irradiated  with 
gleams  of  fancy  and  imagination.  The  professor  of 
ethics  could  not  conceal  the  fact,  that  he  was  a  poet. 

ALEXANDER  POPE,  whose  parents  were  members  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  was  born  in  Lombard 
Street,  London,  on  the  2ist  of  May,  1688.  Soon  after 
that  time,  his  father,  who  was  a  linen-draper,  retired  from 
business  and  went  to  live  at  Binfield,  near  Windsor  Forest. 
There  young  Pope  received  some  instruction  from  a  priest, 
and  then  went  to  a  school  at  Twyford  ;  but  for  his  higher 
education  he  was  mainly  indebted  to  the  kindness  of 
his  parents,  who  allowed  him  to  select  his  own  studies. 
In  him  Nature  united  poetic  genius  and  a  clear  intellect 


POPE.  91 

with  a  physical  constitution  so  frail  that  he  called  his 
life  "a  long  disease."  As  he  tells  us,  "he  lisped  in  num- 
bers," wrote  verses  when  he  was  twelve  years  old,  and 
about  that  time  was  introduced  to  the  old  poet,  Dryden, 
who,  still  retaining  his  marvellous  powers,  was  near  the 
close  of  his  career.  Studies  of  Dryden's  "Fables"  and 
Chaucer's  "  Tales "  led  the  young  poet  to  write  some 
free  imitations,  and  he  read  Milton's  early  poems,  Eng- 
lish and  Latin,  of  which  traces  are  found  in  four 
"  Pastorals  "  written  by  Pope  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  but 
afterwards  revised,  and  first  published  in  1709.  Recol- 
lections of  rural  life  at  Binfield  supplied  imagery  for  the 
best  passages  of  "  Windsor  Forest,"  first  published  in 
1713.  Here  and  there  are  found,  among  more  ambitious 
verses,  some  lines  of  truthful  description,  such  as  these : — 

"  There,  interspersed  in  lawns  and  opening  glades, 
Thin  trees  arise  that  shun  each  other's  shades. 
Here  in  full  light  the  russet  plains  extend, 
There,  wrapt  in  clouds,  the  bluish  hills  ascend. 
E'en  the  wild  heath  displays  her  purple  dyes." 

Before  Pope  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty-three,  his 
intellect  had  assumed  predominance  over  sentiment  and 
imagination.  This  may  be  seen  in  the  "  Essay  on  Criti- 
cism," which  first  appeared  in  1711,  when  it  was  highly 
commended  by  Addison.  In  this  work  the  author,  partly 
following  the  great  critic,  Boileau,  turned  his  attention 
away  from  nature  and  life,  and  began  to  write  about 
rules  for  writing.  The  following  lines,  giving  apposite 


92  ENGLISH   POETS. 

examples  of  bad  versification,  were  admired  at  the  time 
when  the  "  Essay  "  was  published  : — 

"  In  the  bright  muse  though  thousand  charms  conspire, 

Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire, 

Who  haunt  Parnassus  but  to  please  the  ear, 

Not  mend  their  minds  ;  as  some  to  church  repair, 

Not  for  the  doctrine,  but  the  music  there. 

These  equal  syllables  alone  require, 

Though  oft  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire, 

While  feeble  expletives  their  aid  do  join, 

And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dull  line" 

When  the  "Essay"  had  been  praised  in  the  "  Spec- 
tator," the  writer  contributed  to  that  journal  a  poem 
called  "The  Messiah,"  remarkable  as  a  specimen  of 
ornate  diction  and  smooth  verse.  The  thoughts  and  the 
imagery  are  (with  full  acknowledgment)  borrowed  from 
Isaiah  and  Virgil.  Again  the  young  author  displayed 
versatility  when,  soon  after  the  appearance  of  "  The 
Messiah,"  he  published  a  first  sketch  of  his  "  Rape  of  the 
Lock."  This  also  was  praised  by  Addison,  who  thought 
it  so  good  that  it  could  hardly  be  mended.  But  the 
poet  was  pleased  with  the  subject,  and,  soon  afterwards, 
greatly  extended  his  work  by  the  introduction  of  sylphs, 
gnomes,  and  nymphs,  such  as  are  found  in  the  Entretiens 
dtt  Comte  de  Gabalis,  an  odd  book,  written  by  the  French 
Abbe  de  Montfaucon  de  Villars.  It  seems  clear  that 
Pope  had  read  that  book.  The  real  story  of  his  mock- 
heroic  poem  is  very  simple.  It  tells  us  that  a  young  lord 
clipped  away,  without  asking  for  permission,  a  lock  of 


POPE.  93 

hair  from  the  head  of  a  reigning  beauty,  and  dire  anger 
followed  the  transgression  : — 

"  Then  flashed  the  living  lightning  from  her  eyes, 
And  screams  of  terror  rend  the  affrighted  skies. 
Not  louder  shrieks  to  pitying  heaven  are  cast, 
When  husbands,  or  when  lap-dogs  breathe  their  last ! 
Or  when  rich  China  vessels,  fallen  from  high, 
In  glittering  dust  and  painted  fragments  lie." 

The  quarrel  thus  begun  went  on  until  two  families, 
who  had  lived  on  friendly  terms,  were  separated  like 
Greeks  and  Trojans.  The  poet's  aim  is  reconciliation, 
and  good  humour  is  the  general  tone  of  the  poem.  If  to 
fancy  we  assign  such  combinations  of  ideas  and  images 
as  have  no  basis  in  faith,  reason,  or  deep  feeling;  in 
other  words,  if  fancy  may  be  defined  as  the  playful  sister 
of  imagination,  then  Pope's  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  may 
be  called  the  most  brilliant  of  all  works  of  fancy  found 
in  English  literature.  Its  success,  when  published  in 
its  complete  form  in  1714,  was  remarkable;  though  the 
publisher  paid  to  the  writer  little  more  than  twenty 
pounds.  Another  proof  of  versatility  was  soon  given, 
when  he  published,  at  Chiswick,  the  volume  of  poems 
including  the  "  Epistle  of  Eloisa  to  Abelard."  This 
alone  is  enough  to  show  that  Pope  was  a  poet  in  the 
higher  sense  of  the  word,  and  had  full  command  of  such 
language  as  only  true  passion  can  inspire.  All  the 
imagery  of  the  poem  is  coloured  by  one  sentiment.  The 
convent  with  "  relentless  walls,"  the  "  darksome  pines," 


94  ENGLISH   POETS. 

the  grief  that  "shades  every  flower"  and  "darkens  every 

scene," 

"  Deepens  the  murmur  of  the  falling  floods, 
And  breathes  a  browner  horror  on  the  woods  " 

— all  are  well  blended,  like  faint  lights,  dim  colours,  and 
dark  shadows  in  an  old  and  mellow  painting  ;  and  surely 
there  is  pathos  in  such  lines  as  these : — 

"  In  sacred  vestments  mayst  thou  stand, 
The  hallowed  taper  trembling  in  thy  hand  ; 
Present  the  cross  before  my  lifted  eye, 
Teach  me  at  once,  and  learn  of  me  to  die. 
Ah,  then  thy  once- loved  Elo'isa  see  ! 
It  will  be  then  no  crime  to  gaze  on  me. 
See  from  my  cheek  the  transient  roses  fly  ! 
See  the  last  sparkle  languish  in  my  eye  ! 
Till  every  motion,  pulse  and  breath  be  o'er, 
And  even  my  Abelard  be  loved  no  more." 

One  of  the  smaller  poems,  given  in  the  volume  pub- 
lished at  Chiswick,  where  Pope  was  living  in  1716,  re- 
minds us  of  the  author's  own  source  of  sorrow.  The 
poem  is  addressed  to  his  friend,  Martha  Blount,  a  lady 
belonging  to  a  Roman  Catholic  family  living  near  Read- 
ing. Their  early  friendship  never  died  away,  and  did 
not  lead  to  marriage.  The  cause  of  their  separation 
is  clearly  enough  indicated  in  several  letters  having 
reference  to  the  writer's  frail  health  ;  or  rather  to  that 
"  long  disease,"  his  life.  Writing  verses  was  for  Pope  an 
anodyne  medicine,  and  satire  diverted  his  attention  from 
his  own  physical  miseries.  To  these  he  refers  in  the 
following  reproof  of  flattery  : — 


POPE.  95 

"  There  are  who  to  my  person  pay  their  court : 
I  cough  like  Horace,  and  though  lean,  am  short. 
Ammon's  great  son  one  shoulder  had  too  high  ; 
'  Such  Ovid's  nose  ! '  and, '  Sir,  you  have  an  eye  ! ' — 
Go  on,  obliging  creatures  !  make  me  see 
All  that  disgraced  my  betters  met  in  me. 
Say,  for  my  comfort,  languishing  in  bed, 
'Just  so  immortal  Maro  held  his  head  ! '  " 

The  discontent  naturally  attending  ill-health  was  but 
one  of  the  motives  by  which  Pope  was  urged  to  write 
satire.  When  twenty-three  years  old,  he  had  won  re- 
putation, but  had  gained  no  substantial  reward.  All 
the  money  he  had  earned  by  writing  poetry  was  hardly 
worth  notice.  He  was  excluded  by  his  creed  from  some 
rewards  given  to  men  whose  claims  were  inferior,  and  was 
left  mostly  dependent  on  his  father,  who  died  suddenly  in 
1717.  A  note  written  by  the  poet  at  that  time  contains 
these  words,  addressed  to  his  friend,  Martha  Blount  : 
"  My  poor  father  died  last  night.  Believe,  since  I  don't 
forget  you  now,  I  never  shall." 

Though  Pope  inherited  but  a  small  patrimony,  his 
father's  decease  did  not  leave  him  in  poverty.  Some 
time  before  that  event,  he  had  issued  a  proposal  for  pub- 
lishing, by  subscription,  a  new  translation  of  Homer,  and 
in  this  undertaking  he  was  generously  supported  by 
patrons  of  literature.  So  far  were  his  circumstances 
thus  improved,  that  he  took  at  Twickenham  a  long  lease 
of  a  house  with  five  acres  of  land,  and  afterwards  lived 
there  with  his  mother,  whom  he  cherished  with  filial 


96  ENGLISH  POETS. 

piety  during  the  remainder  of  her  life.  At  his  villa  on 
the  Thames,  he  bestowed  on  landscape-gardening,  in 
miniature,  as  much  care  as  he  sometimes  expended  in 
polishing  verses.  Here  he  planted  his  willow,  made  a 
grotto,  through  which  a  rill  of  clear  water  flowed,  and 
planned  a  sloping  "  arcade  of  trees,"  through  which 
might  be  seen  "  sails  on  the  river,  passing  suddenly  and 
vanishing."  Near  the  grotto  were  constructed  two 
porches  ;  one  "  full  of  light  and  open,"  the  other 
"shadowed  with  trees  and  rough  with  shells,  flints,  and 
iron-ores." 

The  transition  from  Binfield  and  Chiswick  to  a  villa 
on  the  Thames  seems  marvellous,  and  the  wonder  is  not 
lessened  when  we  are  told  that  Pope  gained  ^"5,000  by 
translating  Homer's  "  Iliad."  The  first  volume  appeared 
in  1715,  and  the  work  was  completed  in  1720.  The  task 
of  the  translator  would  have  been  very  arduous  if  he  had 
endeavoured  to  unite  with  his  own  polished  versification 
the  antique  tone  and  simple  truthfulness  of  Homer  ;  but 
such  a  union  was  never  meditated.  Pope  made  Homer 
talk  elegantly,  in  the  style  mostly  admired  by  English 
readers  of  the  time,  and  great  success  rewarded  the  enter- 
prise, which  was  soon  followed  by  a  translation  of  the 
"  Odyssey."  In  this  work  Pope  was  assisted  by  two 
literary  men — Broome  and  Fenton — who  could  so  far 
imitate  his  own  style  that  their  work,  when  revised  and 
polished  by  himself,  was  at  least  respectable.  Pope  did 
half  the  work  ;  a  third  part  of  it  was  executed  by 


POPE.  97 

Broome,  and  the  remainder — one  sixth — was  done  by 
Fenton.     The  profits  of  the    translation    amounted    to 
£4,200,  and  were  thus  distributed  :  Pope  took  five-sixths, 
Broome  had  one-eighth,  and  the  remaining  small  sum 
was  accepted  as  the  payment  due  to  Fenton.    Poets  may 
therefore  boast  that  their  number  includes,  at  least,  one 
man  who  was  a  good  financial  politician.     At  the  same 
time   it   should  be    noticed    that    the    success    of  the 
"  Odyssey  "  was  fairly  ascribed  to  Pope's  former  success 
in  translating  the  "  Iliad."     In  the  course  of  ten  years 
(1715-25)  he  earned  more  than  eight  thousand  pounds 
by   work  that,  for    him,    was  comparatively  light,  and 
afforded  leisure  for  recreation.     While  engaged  in  trans- 
lating "  the    Iliad,"  he  lived    for   some    time    in   rural 
quietude,    at     an    old     mansion — Stanton-Harcourt   in 
Oxfordshire — of  which  he  wrote  a  description,  in  prose, 
so  pleasant  that  it  reminds  us  of  Addison  and  of  Irving. 
The    description,  addressed    to    Lady    Mary   Wortley 
Montagu,  is  thus  concluded  : — 

"  I  have  found  this  an  excellent  place  for  retirement  and  study, 
where  no  one  who  passes  by  can  dream  there  is  an  inhabitant.  .  .  . 
You  will  not  wonder,  I  have  translated  a  great  deal  of  Homer  in 
this  retreat  ;  any  one  that  sees  it  will  own  I  could  not  have  chosen 
a  fitter  or  more  likely  place  to  converse  with  the  dead." 

The  accomplished  lady  to  whom  Pope  sent  the  ac- 
count of  his  "retreat,"  came,  in  1718,  to  live  at  Twicken- 
ham, and  for  some  time  was  numbered  with  the  poet's 
friends.  A  story  is  told  imputing  to  Pope  all  the  blame 


98  ENGLISH   POETS. 

for  cessation  of  friendly  relations.  In  connection  with 
that  story,  one  apparently  contradictory  fact  should  be 
noticed  :  the  poet's  "  long  subdued  and  cherished  "  love 
of  Martha  Blount  remained  with  him  throughout  his  life. 
Of  his  letters  addressed  to  this  lady  one,  written  in  1716, 
tells  us  that  he  had  recently  paid  a  visit  to  Oxford. 
"  There,"  he  says, — 

"  I  lay  in  one  of  the  most  ancient,  dusky  parts  of  the  University, 
and  was  as  dead  to  the  world  as  any  hermit  of  the  desert.  If  any- 
thing was  alive  or  awake  in  me,  it  was  a  little  vanity,  such  as  even 
those  good  men  used  to  entertain,  when  monks  of  their  own  order 
extolled  their  piety  and  abstraction." 

While  partly  engaged  in  translating  the  "  Odyssey," 
Pope  made  some  preparation  for  a  new  edition  of  Shake- 
speare, which  appeared  in  1725,  and  was  remarkably  un- 
successful. The  editorial  work  was  slightly  done  ;  but 
the  chief  cause  of  failure  was  a  prevalent  want  of  taste 
for  dramatic  poetry  of  the  highest  class. 

Pope  received  for  his  earlier  poetry  only  such  pecuniary 
rewards  as  might  be  called  insignificant ;  but  the  profits 
arising  from  his  "  Homer,"  and  from  his  own  good 
management  of  money,  made  him  independent.  In  his 
own  frugal  way,  he  could  entertain  select  friends  at  his 
pleasant  villa,  and  there  he  enjoyed  the  society  of  such 
men  as  Swift  and  Gay,  the  witty  physician  Arbuthnot, 
and  the  two  bishops,  Berkeley  and  Atterbury.  The  last- 
named,  accused  of  treason  and  banished  in  1723,  sent 
from  the  Tower  a  farewell  letter  to  the  poet,  whose  reply 


POPE.  99 

was  written  in  a  style  of  studied  solemnity.  Other  letters 
were  written  by  Pope,  with  such  careful  attention  to 
style,  that  the  sincerity  of  his  sentiments  has  been 
doubted.  But  the  same  trait  is  found  in  correspondence 
having  reference  to  his  mother's  declining  health,  and 
his  sincerity  cannot  here  be  doubted.  Not  a  word  of 
fiction  is  found  in  the  following  lines  : — 

"  Me  let  the  tender  office  long  engage, 

To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  age  ; 

With  lenient  arts  extend  a  mother's  breath, 

Make  languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed  of  death  ; 

Explore  the  thought,  explain  the  asking  eye, 

And  keep  at  least  one  parent  from  the  sky." 

After  1726,  Pope's  talents  were  mostly  employed  in 
writing  satires  and  moral  epistles  (or  essays)  in  verse. 
Of  the  satires,  the  longest  was  "  The  Dunciad,"  in  which 
he  exposed  to  ridicule  some  authors  who  had  offended 
him,  and  others  from  whom  he  had  received  no  provoca- 
tion. For  the  temper  betrayed  in  "  The  Dunciad,"  an 
apology  is  given  in  the  following  lines,  in  which  the 
writer  speaks  of  himself : — 

"  Not  for  fame,  but  virtue's  better  end, 
He  stood  the  furious  foe,  the  timid  friend.  .  .  . 
The  morals  blackened,  when  the  writings  scape, 
The  libelled  person,  and  the  pictured  shape, 
Abuse  on  all  he  loved,  or  loved  him,  spread, 
A  friend  in  exile,  or  a  father  dead." 

The  "  Epistles  "  and  "  Satires,"  including  some  "  Imi- 
tations of  Horace " — all  written  in  the  course  of  the 


ioo  ENGLISH  POETS. 

years  1730-38 — contain  the  best  specimens  of  Pope's 
writing,  and  combine,  in  his  own  style,  good  sense,  pierc- 
ing wit,  and  lively  fancy.  His  more  striking  rhetorical 
traits  are  seen  in  adroit  uses  of  climax,  antithesis,  and 
irony.  Of  the  last  two  figures  combined,  one  brief 
example  may  be  given  in  two  lines  addressed  to  a 
querulous  and  conceited  sceptic  : — 

"  Go,  teach  Eternal  Wisdom  how  to  rule — 
Then  drop  into  thyself,  and  be  a  fool  ! " 

Energy  and  conciseness  are  united  in  numerous 
passages,  of  which  the  following  lines  may  afford  one 
example.  They  tell  how  a  ruling  passion — vanity — 
may  assert  itself  at  the  close  of  life  : — 

"  '  Odious  ! — in  woollen — 'twould  a  saint  provoke  ! ' 
(Were  the  last  words  that  poor  Narcissa  spoke — 
'  No  !  let  a  charming  chintz  and  Brussels  lace 
Wrap  my  cold  limbs,  and  shade  my  lifeless  face  ; 
One  would  not,  sure,  be  frightful  when  one's  dead— 
And — Betty  ! — give  this  cheek  a  little  red  ! '  " 

A  finer  example  of  concise  energy  is  found  in  Pope's 
short  sermon  on  that  commonplace  text,  "Virtue  is  its 
own  reward  " : — 

"  What  nothing  earthly  gives,  or  can  destroy, 
The  soul's  calm  sunshine  and  the  heart-felt  joy, 
Is  virtue's  prize  :  a  better  would  you  fix  ? 
Then  give  Humility  a  coach  and  six, 
Justice  a  conqueror's  sword,  or  Truth  a  gown, 
Or  Public  Spirit  its  great  cure,  a  crown. 
Weak,  foolish  man  !  will  Heaven  reward  us  there 
With  the  same  trash  mad  mortals  wish  for  here  ? 


POPE.  101 

The  boy  and  man  an  individual  makes, 
Yet  sigh'st  them  now  for  apples  and  for  cakes  ? 
Go,  like  the  Indian,  in  another  life, 
Expect  thy  dog,  thy  bottle,  and  thy  wife ; 
As  well  as  dream  such  trifles  are  assigned, 
As  toys  and  empires,  for  a  godlike  mind." 

Four  of  the  didactic  epistles,  written  in  the  course  of 
the  years  1732-34,  were  collected  under  the  general  title, 
"  An  Essay  on  Man."  The  optimistic  theory  maintained 
in  the  essay  was  partly  borrowed  from  conversations 
with  Lord  Bolingbroke,  one  of  the  poet's  friends.  Such 
a  theory  should  be  given  either  as  founded  on  Divine 
Revelation,  or  as  derived  by  some  sure  method  from 
philosophical  research.  It  seems  out  of  place  when  given 
in  verse,  and  here  and  there  enunciated  in  dogmatic  and 
declamatory  tones.  When  Pope  boldly  declares  that 
"  whatever  is,  is  right,"  a  critic  gives  a  sufficient  refutation 
by  appending  the  following  note  : — 

"  Here  Pope's  '  whatever  is,  is  right'  is  wrong." 

But  whatever  may  be  the  objections  justly  raised 
against  the  discursive  treatment  of  a  philosophical 
theory,  it  must  be  granted  that  the  "  Essay  on  Man " 
contains  some  of  the  finest  passages  written  by  Pope. 
With  these  may  be  classed  the  following  eloquent 
lines : — 

"  All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 
Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  soul ; 
That,  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 
Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  the  ethereal  frame ; 


102  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees ; 
Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent ; 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent ; 
Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart ; 
As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns, 
As  the  rapt  seraph  that  adores  and  burns ; 
To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small ; 
He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all." 

When  he  had  written  his  satires  and  his  moral  essays, 
Pope's  best  work  in  literature  was  done.  He  had  given 
to  didactic  and  reflective  poetry  its  highest  polish,  and 
had  left  nothing  to  be  done  by  imitators.  Of  new  strains 
of  inspiration,  such  as  afterwards  were  heard  in  the 
poems  of  Gray,  Goldsmith,  and  Cowper,  some  anticipa- 
tion was  found  in  Thomson's  "  Seasons,"  published 
while  Pope  was  writing  didactic  verse.  He  did  not 
recognize  in  Thomson  the  man  who  would  breathe  new 
life  into  poetical  literature ;  but  described  him,  rather 
coldly,  as  "an  elegant  and  philosophical  poet."  It  is 
pleasant  to  notice  that,  in  1738,  Pope  made  some  endea- 
vours to  help  that  good  and  brave  man,  Samuel  Johnson, 
who  was  then  fighting  with  cruel  poverty. 

Shades  of  melancholy  were  spread  over  Pope's  declin- 
ing years.  At  the  age  of  fifty-three  he  was  old  and 
almost  worn  out,  afflicted  with  frequent  head-ache,  and 
so  feeble  that  he  could  not  dress  himself  without  assist- 
ance. In  company  he  would  often  fall  asleep  in  the 
midst  of  a  conversation.  He  had  lost  his  cheerful  friend 


POPE.  103 

Gay,  and  kind  and  witty  Arbuthnot,  "  friend  and  phy- 
sician." Lord  Bolingbroke,  with  all  his  philosophy,  was 
a  poor  substitute  for  Swift,  over  whose  mind  shades  of 
deep  night  were  lowering.  Neither  death  nor  distance, 
but  "  a  darkness  that  might  be  felt,"  separated  Pope 
from  Swift.  The  latter  hardly  spoke  a  word  during  the 
last  three  years  of  his  life. 

With  one  faithful  friend,  Ralph  Allen,  Pope  spent  some 
time,  in  1/41,  at  Prior  Park,  near  Bath,  and  here,  in  a 
pleasant  rural  retreat,  his  time  was  mostly  occupied  in 
writing  a  fourth  book,  to  make  "  The  Dunciad  "  com- 
plete. In  burlesque-sublime  style  this  fourth  book 
describes  the  victory  won  by  "  dunces,"  and  the  all-per- 
vading influence  of  their  goddess,  "  Dulness."  Under  her 
dominion,  education  is  reduced  to  barren  formality,  and 
schools  are  castles  of  indolence.  Collectors  of  petty 
curiosities  take  the  places  vacated  by  men  of  science ; 
but  while  poetry  is  suppressed,  a  free  range  is  still  left 
for  mathematical  paradox  : — 

"  Mad  Mathesis  alone  was  unconfined, 
Too  mad  for  mere  material  chains  to  bind, 
Now  to  pure  space  lifts  her  extatic  stare, 
Now,  running  round  the  circle,  finds  it — square." 

Religion,  like  poetry,  is  suppressed  ;  law  and  morality 
share  the  same  fate ;  the  intellectual  world  becomes 
blank  space ;  primeval  night  and  chaos  return, 

"  And  universal  darkness  buries  all." 
There  is  a  sublimity  of  absurdity  in  the  closing  pas- 


104  ENGLISH   POETS. 

sages  of  "The  Dunciad."  It  seems  sad,  that  some  of 
Pope's  latest  studies  were  devoted  to  literary  controversy. 
His  "long  disease"  called  life  came  to  a  close  in  1744. 
In  May  his  friend,  Martha  Blount,  came  to  Twickenham 
to  say  farewell  to  Alexander  Pope.  His  extreme  weak- 
ness was  followed  by  intervals  of  delirium.  In  calm 
moments  he  expressed  a  firm  belief  in  his  soul's  immor- 
tality. When  it  was  evident  that  death  was  near,  a 
Roman  Catholic  priest  was  called  in,  and  from  his  hands 
Pope  received,  with  expressions  of  deep  humiliation,  the 
last  sacraments  of  the  Church  to  which  his  parents 
belonged.  He  died  tranquilly  in  the  evening  of  the 
3Oth  of  May,  1744.  By  his  will  he  left  to  Martha  Blount, 
as  a  token  of  "long  friendship,"  ;£i,ooo,  with  all  his 
household  effects,  and  the  residue  of  his  estate,  after 
payment  of  debts  and  legacies.  All  that  was  mortal  of 
Pope  was  interred,  near  his  parents'  remains,  in  Twicken- 
ham Church,  where  a  marble  monument,  bearing  a 
medallion  portrait,  was  erected  in  1761.  Some  years 
ago  a  report  was  spread  that  the  Poet's  skull  had  been 
taken  from  the  vault  and  placed  "in  a  phrenological 
collection."  It  is  true  that,  in  consequence  of  an  acci- 
dent, the  vault  was  partly  opened,  and  the  skull  was 
taken  out ;  but  it  was  soon  restored  to  its  place.  There 
is  something  frightful  in  the  thought  of  "  dunces  "  dis- 
turbing the  poet's  remains. 

The  chief  traits  of  Pope's  character  are  seen  in  his 
writings.     Though  he  never  left  the  pale  of  the  Roman 


POPE.  105 

Catholic  Church,  his  religious  views  were  partly  rational- 
istic, or  might,  in  some  respects,  be  called  "  latitudi- 
narian."  "  I  as  little  fear,"  he  said,  "that  God  will  damn 
a  man  who  has  Charity,  as  I  hope  that  any  priest  can 
save  him  without  it."  It  is  hard  to  show  how  Pope 
could  harmonize  his  parents'  creed  with  his  own  natural 
theology.  One  thing  is  clear,  that  he  saved  from  nega- 
tion his  belief  in  Divine  Providence  and  in  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul.  The  names  of  his  friends  are  enough 
to  assure  us  that  he  possessed  amiable  qualities.  Above 
all,  his  filial  piety  was  in  the  highest  degree  exemplary. 
On  the  other  side  it  may  be  said,  he  was — like  some 
other  men  afflicted  with  physical  deformity — too  sensitive 
and  querulous.  He  did  not  readily  forgive  an  insult. 
His  frugality  was  called  parsimony,  with  especial  respect 
to  the  allowance  of  wine  that  some  of  his  guests  would 
call  liberal.  His  sentimental  letters  have  been  called 
insincere,  because  he  wrote  them  with  some  care  for 
polish,  and  published,  by  means  of  a  stratagem,  his  own 
correspondence,  apparently  intended  to  be  kept  private. 
But  he  wrote  polished  prose,  when  describing  his  own 
ornamental  grounds  and  his  grotto ;  yet  surely  his  love 
of  landscape-gardening  was  no  affectation.  One  of  his 
worst  foibles  was  thinking  too  much  of  his  enemies  and 
of  himself,  and  this  error  led  him  to  cherish  the  proud 
and  defiant  temper  expressed  in  the  following  lines : — 

"  Ask  you  what  provocation  I  have  had  ? 
The  strong  antipathy  of  good  to  bad. 
P 


io6  ENGLISH   POETS. 

When  truth  or  virtue  an  affront  endures, 

The  affront  is  mine,  my  friend,  and  should  be  yours ; 

Mine,  as  a  foe  professed  to  false  pretence, 

Who  think  a  coxcomb's  honour  like  his  sense  ; 

Mine,  as  a  friend  to  every  worthy  mind, 

And  mine,  as  man,  who  feel  for  all  mankind. 

Friend.  You're  strangely  proud — 

Poet.  So  proud,  I  am  no  slave  ; 

So  impudent,  I  own  myself  no  knave ; 
So  odd,  my  country's  ruin  makes  me  grave. 
Yes,  I  am  proud ;  I  must  be  proud  to  see 
Men,  not  afraid  of  God,  afraid  of  me ! " 

Pope,  during  a  considerable  part  of  his  lifetime,  was 
involved  in  literary  quarrels,  and  controversies  have  been 
provoked  by  his  reputation.  Of  all  disputes  respecting 
his  merits,  the  most  noticeable  was  one  in  which  Lord 
Byron  was  engaged  on  one  side,  with  the  Rev.  Lisle 
Bowles  on  the  other.  There  was  a  general  want  of  clear 
expression  on  both  sides  of  the  controversy,  for  the  words 
"  poet "  and  "  poetry,"  though  often  introduced,  were 
never  defined  with  precision.  Byron  spoke  collectively 
of  Pope's  writings.  Beside  such  expressions  of  enthu- 
siasm and  fervid  imagination  as  are  found  in  the  "  Epistle 
of  Eloisa "  were  placed  fine  passages  of  didactic  verse, 
specimens  of  stinging  satire,  and  eloquent  laudations  of 
virtue.  When  all  these  varied  expressions  of  power  had 
been  reviewed,  Byron  noticed  also  Pope's  elegantly  com- 
pact diction,  his  wit  and  humour,  and  his  adroit  use 
of  rhetorical  figures.  From  a  survey  of  all  these  items 
Byron  induced  his  conclusion  : — that  ALEXANDER  POPE 
was  a  prince  among  English  poets. 


GOLDSMITH. 

LIVER  GOLDSMITH,  the  son  of  a  poor 
clergyman,  was  born  at  the  hamlet  Pallas' 
in  the  county  of  Longford  (Ireland),  on  the 
loth  of  November  1728.  His  father, 
Charles  Goldsmith,  curate  of  a  chapel  at  Pallas,  had  a 
mean  salary  that,  aided  by  some  small  farming,  made 
forty  pounds  his  yearly  income.  To  the  father,  Charles 
Goldsmith,  and  perhaps  to  his  son,  Henry,  who  subse- 
quently held  the  same  curacy,  there  seems  to  be  a  refer- 
ence in  the  Poet's  portraiture  of  a  Rural  Pastor  : — 

"  A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year." 

The  father's  circumstances  were  improved  in  1730, 
when  he  gained  the  living  of  Kilkenny  West,  and  went 
to  dwell  at  Lissoy,  a  village  near  Ballymahon.  There 
Oliver's  childhood  was  passed;  not  without  affliction. 
In  his  eighth  year  an  attack  of  small-pox  left  his  face 


io8  ENGLISH   POETS. 

scarred  and  disfigured  for  life.  He  was  called  a  dull 
boy  when  he  went  to  school  at  Lissoy,  and  it  can  hardly 
be  doubted  that  his  best  lessons  were  learned  in  the 
open  air,  and  without  such  aid  as  books  and  rods  supply. 
He  learned  to  look  with  kindness  on  the  lives  of  poor 
people,  and  on  the  face  of  nature.  When  fifteen  years 
old,  he  received  some  pecuniary  aid  from  an  uncle, 
named  Contarine,  and  was  admitted  as  a  sizar  or  "poor 
scholar  "  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  where  he  graduated 
as  B.A.  in  1749.  While  he  was  at  college  his  father  died, 
leaving  but  slender  resources  for  his  widow,  who  went  to 
live  at  Ballymahon.  There,  and  in  the  neighbourhood, 
Oliver,  after  leaving  Dublin,  stayed  two  years,  visited  re- 
latives, and  sometimes  gave  aid  in  a  school  kept  by  his 
elder  brother  Henry,  curate  of  the  chapel  at  Pallas. 

When  twenty-three  years  old,  Oliver,  following  advice 
given  by  his  uncle,  presented  himself  as  a  candidate  for 
holy  orders  to  the  Bishop  of  Elphin,  by  whom  he  was  re- 
jected. His  way  of  life  had  been  free  and  careless,  and 
at  college  his  irregularities  had  offended  a  harsh  tutor. 
Of  such  antecedents  the  bishop  might  probably  hear 
some  report.  But  Oliver's  failure  has  been  ascribed  to 
the  costume  worn  when  he  went  to  Elphin.  He  disliked, 
we  are  told,  the  solemnity  of  a  black  suit,  and  wore 
"scarlet  breeches."  This  story  seems  founded  on  the 
fact  that  in  later  life  Goldsmith  liked  gay  colour  in 
dress.  For  one  year  after  the  failure  at  Elphin,  he  had 
the  experience  of  a  private  tutor,  and  subsequently  lived 


GOLDSMITH.  109 

for  some  time  with  his  brother  Henry.  Then,  again 
aided  by  his  uncle,  Oliver  went  to  study  medicine  at 
Edinburgh  and  at  Leyden,  where  he  was  staying  in  1754. 
His  subsequent  failure  of  resources  might  be  partly  as- 
cribed to  a  love  of  gambling.  Covetousness  was  no  part 
of  his  nature,  and  he  had  neither  the  skill  nor  the  cunning 
of  an  expert  gambler  ;  but  he  loved  the  perilous  excite- 
ment of  a  gaming-table.  Some  "  good  luck  "  that  he 
once  enjoyed  at  Leyden  was  in  fact  a  misfortune.  The 
money  soon  won  was  almost  as  soon  wasted,  and  the  ad- 
venturer was  left  in  a  foreign  land  and  without  friends. 
From  Leyden  he  sent  home  to  his  uncle  Contarine  a 
present  of  some  choice  bulbs  of  tulips,  and  then  started 
for  a  long  tour  on  the  continent.  In  the  course  of  two 
years  (1754-6)  he  travelled,  mostly  on  foot,  in  France, 
Switzerland,  and  Italy,  and  came  destitute  of  money  to 
London.  How  had  he  maintained  himself  during  the 
time  ?  There  is  no  sure  answer ;  but  the  belief  enter- 
tained by  his  friends  seems  well  founded.  In  his  life- 
time it  was  generally  believed  that  his  own  adventures 
during  his  travels  were  like  those  ascribed  to  "  George  " 
in  "The  Vicar  of  Wakefield."  In  Holland  he  gave 
private  lessons,  played  the  flute  to  amuse  rustic  people 
in  Flanders,  and,  after  other  exercises  of  versatile  ability, 
was  engaged  as  the  travelling  tutor  of  a  wealthy  and 
covetous  young  man,  with  whom  he  did  not  long  agree. 
Goldsmith  returned  from  the  continent,  and  came  to 
London  in  1756.  At  that  time  the  circumstances  of 


no  ENGLISH  POETS. 

unaided  men  of  genius  and  learning  were  by  no  means 
enviable.  The  age  of  patronage  had  passed  away,  and 
booksellers  would  not  give  much  for  copyright  that  must 
expire  at  the  time  when  it  might  otherwise  rapidly  in- 
crease in  value.  Authors,  though  too  numerous  for  their 
own  welfare,  were  but  a  feeble  minority,  and  conse- 
quently the  results  of  their  best  labours  were  taken  from 
them  by  confiscation.  The  statute  of  Anne,  by  which 
copyright  was  limited,  did  not  suppress  writers  of  party 
pamphlets  and  other  ephemeral  productions  ;  but  it  op- 
pressed good  and  great  men  of  the  class  to  which  John- 
son and  Goldsmith  belonged.  After  all  his  hard 
struggles  for  bread,  .  and  when  his  great  work,  the 
Dictionary,  had  appeared,  Johnson,  in  the  year  when 
Goldsmith  came  to  town,  was  so  poor  that  he  was 
arrested  for  a  debt  of  less  than  six  pounds.  He  was 
then  helped  by  Samuel  Richardson,  who  was  the  writer 
of  very  successful  novels.  His  prosperity  seems  mar- 
vellous ;  but  he  made  his  money  mostly  by  printing. 
Other  exceptions  to  the  general  rule  of  oppression  and 
poverty  among  literary  men  were  more  apparent  than 
real.  There  were  some  rewards  for  mean  authors  who 
would  sell  themselves  to  the  ruling  party  in  politics  ;  but 
Sir  Robert  Walpole  had  almost  invariably  refused  to 
give  aid  to  genius  and  learning,  and  his  example  was 
followed  by  other  ministers.  Young,  author  of  the 
"Night  Thoughts,"  received  a  pension,  and  in  1860 
Johnson's  claims  were  noticed  by  Lord  Bute.  But  on 


GOLDSMITH.  in 

the  whole  the  period  1728-74,  including  Goldsmith's  life- 
time, was  for  honourable  literary  men  a  deplorable  time. 
Soon  after  his  arrival  in  London,  Goldsmith  saw 
enough  of  the  misery  of  poor  authors,  and  he  made  some 
endeavours  to  escape  from  it.  Among  the  lowest  mer- 
cenary scribblers  and  schemers  of  that  time  there  were 
some  ways  of  winning  money  to  which  he  could  never 
stoop.  Of  these  he  gives  (with  some  humorous  ex- 
aggeration) one  amusing  specimen,  as  a  part  of  the 
story  told  by  "  George  "  : — 

"As  I  was  meditating  one  day,  in  a  coffee-house  "  (says  "George  "), 
"  a  little  man  happening  to  enter  the  room  placed  himself  in  the  box 
before  me,  and,  after  some  preliminary  discourse,  finding  me  to  be  a 
scholar,  drew  out  a  bundle  of  proposals,  begging  me  to  subscribe  to 
a  new  edition  he  was  going  to  give  the  world  of  '  Propertius,  with 
Notes'  This  demand  necessarily  produced  a  reply  that  I  had  no 
money  ;  and  that  concession  led  him  to  inquire  into  the  nature  of 
my  expectations.  Finding  that  my  expectations  were  just  as  great 
as  my  purse, '  I  see,'  cried  he, '  you  are  unacquainted  with  the  town. 
I'll  teach  you  a  part  of  it.  Look  at  these  proposals  ;  upon  these 
proposals  I  have  subsisted  very  comfortably  for  twelve  years.  The 
moment  a  nobleman  returns  from  his  travels,  a  Creolian  arrives 
from  Jamaica,  or  dowager  from  her  country-seat,  I  strike  for  a  sub- 
scription. I  first  besiege  their  hearts  with  flattery,  and  then  pour 
in  my  proposals  at  the  breach.  If  they  subscribe  readily  the  first 
time,  I  renew  my  request,  to  beg  a  dedication  fee  ;  if  they  let  me 
have  that,  I  smite  them  once  more  for  engraving  their  coat-of-arms 
at  the  top.  Thus,'  continued  he,  '  I  live  by  vanity  and  laugh  at  it ; 
but,  between  ourselves,  I  am  now  too  well  known.  I  should  be  glad 
to  borrow  your  face  a  bit ;  a  nobleman  of  distinction  has  just  re- 
turned from  Italy  ;  my  face  is  familiar  to  his  porter ;  but  if  you 
bring  this  copy  of  verses,  my  life  for  it,  you  succeed,  and  we  divide 


ii2  ENGLISH   POETS. 

the  spoil.' "  ["  George  "  declined  the  offer.  .  .  .  Having  a  mind  too 
proud  to  stoop  to  such  indignities,  and  yet  a  fortune  too  humble  to 
hazard  a  second  attempt  for  fame,  he  was  now  obliged  to  take  a 
middle  course,  and  write  for  bread.] 

To  escape  from  the  misery  of  writing  for  bread,  Gold- 
smith, before  the  time  when  his  name  was  known,  sought 
and  found  employment  as  assistant  in  a  chemist's  shop, 
at  the  corner  of  Monument  Yard.  At  that  time  he  was 
so  far  changed  in  aspect  by  misery,  that  he  was  not 
easily  recognized  by  Dr.  Sleigh,  whom  he  had  known 
well  in  Edinburgh.  Aided  by  this  good  friend,  he 
bought  a  suit  of  clothes,  of  which  the  faded  colour  had 
once  been  green,  and  took  apartments  in  Bankside,  a 
poor  neighbourhood  in  Southwark,  where  his  attempt  to 
obtain  practice  as  a  medical  man  was  a  failure.  He  then 
found  employment  in  correcting  proofs  for  Richardson, 
the  successful  novelist  and  printer,  who  had  extensive 
offices  in  Salisbury  Court.  This  occupation  did  not  last 
long ;  for  in  1757  Goldsmith  was  living  as  an  usher  in  a 
private  school,  kept  by  Dr.  Milner  at  Peckham.  At  that 
time  green  fields  and  gardens  made  pleasant  the  neigh- 
bourhood where  the  house  now  called  "  Goldsmith's 
House  "  stands  retired  under  a  dark  shadow  of  trees.  At 
Peckham,  the  usher  was  introduced  to  a  bookseller,  Mr. 
Griffith,  who — aided  by  his  wife — edited  and  published  a 
Monthly  Review,  for  which  Goldsmith  was  engaged  to 
write  certain  articles.  His  essays  had  sometimes  the 
advantage  (or  endured  the  disgrace)  of  corrections  and 


GOLDSMITH.  113 

improvements  made  by  Mrs.  Griffith  !  For  payment  he 
had  a  small  salary,  a  room  in  the  publisher's  house,  and 
a  share  in  the  misery  of  penurious  housekeeping.  After 
a  dispute  with  his  slave-driving  employers,  he  was  glad 
to  go  back  and,  for  a  time,  help  Dr.  Milner  again  in  the 
Peckham  school.  The  work  of  an  usher  has  hardly 
been  made  delightful  by  all  the  ameliorations  introduced 
in  schools  since  Goldsmith's  time.  He  did  not  like  his 
task,  and  therefore  tried  to  pass  an  examination  in 
surgery,  in  order  to  gain  the  post  of  a  hospital  mate  in 
the  army  or  in  the  navy.  His  failure  left  him  indebted 
to  Mr.  Griffith  for  the  value  of  a  suit  of  clothes,  which 
had  been  pawned.  To  pay  for  these  he  returned  to 
hack-writing,  hired  a  garret  in  Green  Arbour  Court,  and 
there  wrote  a  "  Memoir  of  Voltaire,"  which  was  accepted 
by  Mr.  Griffith  as  full  payment  for  the  pawned  suit  of 
clothes.  This  slight  "  Memoir "  was  soon  followed  by 
a  better  work,  entitled  "An  Enquiry  into  the  Present 
State  of  Polite  Learning  in  Europe,"  which  gained  for 
the  writer  introductions  to  several  editors  and  publishers. 
"  The  Enquiry,"  says  a  brilliant  and  severe  critic,  "  had 
little  value."  It  led,  however,  to  a  turning-point  in  the 
poor  author's  fortune ;  he  was  recognized  and  com- 
mended by  respectable  men,  and  soon  contributed  to 
"  The  Public  Ledger "  the  genial  essays  subsequently 
collected  under  the  title  "  The  Citizen  of  the  World." 
These  were  followed  by  a  series  of  "  Letters  on  the 
History  of  England,"  which  had  great  success,  and  were 
o 


ii4  ENGLISH  POETS. 

afterwards  reduced  to  the  form  of  a  very  popular  school 
book. 

Goldsmith  having  gained  a  position— such  as  was 
seldom  won  in  his  time  by  fair  hard  work — left  his  mean 
hiding-place,  and  found  better  lodgings  ;  first  in  Wine 
Office  Court,  and  afterwards  in  Islington.  About  this 
time  he  was  introduced  to  the  famous  Literary  Club,  of 
which  Johnson,  Burke,  and  Reynolds  were  members. 
Their  place  of  meeting  was  the  Turk's  Head,  Gerrard 
Street,  Soho.  As  a  talker,  Goldsmith,  though  his  genius 
would  now  and  then  shine  out,  could  not  compete  with 
such  giants  as  Johnson  and  Burke.  In  word-duels  with 
the  former,  the  Poet  was  sometimes  silenced  by  the  voice 
of  authority.  "Why,  no  sir!"  Johnson  would  say;  or  "Sir, 
your  genius  is  great,  but  your  knowledge  is  small."  At 
other  times  the  Poet  had  the  advantage,  as  when  he  said 
to  the  great  man  : — "  If  you  were  to  write  a  fable  about 
little  fishes,  doctor,  you  would  make  the  little  fishes  talk 
like  whales."  There  was  no  harm  done  by  such  fighting. 
Goldsmith  found  a  friend  in  the  man  whose  greatest  fault 
was  liking  Latin  better  than  English.  Pleasant  society 
and  eloquent  talk  often  made  the  poet  forget  for  a  time 
his  precarious  circumstances.  He  could  write  well,  and 
was  earning  more  money  than  before,  but  he  had  no 
skill  in  keeping  it.  Moreover,  he  sometimes  felt  weary 
of  task-work,  and  he  knew  well  that  if  he  could  exist  in 
the  mean  time,  he  could  write  something  better  than  the 
"  History  of  England."  His  memories  of  rural  life  at 


GOLDSMITH.  115 

Lissoy,  of  wanderings  on  the  continent,  and  of  hardship 
endured  in  London ;  thoughts  of  his  father  and  of 
Henry,  the  curate  at  Pallas  : — these  were  all  waiting  for 
poetic  treatment.  Now  and  then  he  wrote  lines  after- 
wards included  in  his  poem  "  The  Traveller  ; "  at  other 
times  he  wrote  parts  of  "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  and 
no  doubt  he  had  pleasure  in  thus  blending  his  own  ex- 
perience with  imagination.  But  while  thus  employed 
he  was  earning  no  money,  and  when  the  story  of  the 
good  Vicar  was  completed,  the  author  was  arrested  for 
arrears  of  rent.  Then  he  sent  a  note  rightly  addressed 
— not  to  a  man  hardened  by  wealth,  but  to  the  man 
who  "  had  nothing  of  the  bear  save  his  skin."  Johnson 
immediately  sent  a  guinea,  and  soon  came  to  devise 
means  of  release.  To  him  the  poet  showed  his  "  Vicar 
of  Wakefield."  When  some  portion  of  the  manuscript 
had  been  read,  Johnson  saw  its  merit,  and  soon  sold  it 
for  £60  ;  but  its  publication  was  deferred  for  two  years. 
Released  from  extreme  anxiety,  Goldsmith  completed 
his  poem  "  The  Traveller,"  which  appeared  at  the  close 
of  the  year  1764,  and  was  praised  by  every  reader  who 
could  appreciate  its  union  of  thought  with  imagination 
and  feeling.  One  eulogy,  ascribed  to  a  lady,  was  re- 
markably significant,  and  well  expressed.  The  Poet  was 
by  no  means  "a  handsome  man  ;"  he  was  scarred  with 
small-pox,  had  a  complexion  of  "  frost-bitten  bloom," 
and  was  sometimes  called  "  ugly."  But  Miss  Reynolds 
could  see  beyond  the  surface,  and,  when  she  had  heard 


n6  ENGLISH   POETS. 

the  poem  read,  she  declared  that  never  again  would  she 
call  the  writer  "ugly."  His  fame  was  suddenly  and 
widely  spread  ;  booksellers  collected  and  re-published 
his  essays,  and  Newbery  brought  out,  in  May,  1766, 
"  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield."  Meanwhile  the  author  took 
chambers  in  the  Temple,  bought  a  respectable  suit  of 
clothes,  and  made  another  unsuccessful  endeavour  to 
begin  practice  as  a  medical  man.  His  failure  is  ascribed 
to  a  want  of  skill  and  address  ;  but  it  might  be  as  natu- 
rally ascribed  to  a  cause  well  understood  by  striving 
men — he  had  not  time  to  make  a  beginning,  or  to  wait 
for  practice.  His  thoughts  were  next  turned  toward 
dramatic  writing,  and  in  1768  his  comedy,  "The  Good- 
natured  Man,"  appeared.  Its  first  performance  was  not 
a  sure  success,  and  the  disappointment  made  him  shed 
tears.  The  ultimate  result  was  however  so  far  good,  that 
he  received  for  the  play  more  than  seven  times  the  sum 
paid  for  "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield."  That  money  was 
soon  and  unwisely  expended,  mostly  in  taking  and  fur- 
nishing chambers  in  Brick  Court,  Middle  Temple,  where 
he  gave  to  his  friends  some  good  dinners,  followed  by 
jovial  mirth.  While  there  was  money  in  his  purse  he 
was  always  ready  to  give,  and  his  free  expenditure  was 
too  soon  followed  by  another  appearance  of  his  old, 
grim  companion,  poverty.  Then  he  went  to  work  again 
for  the  booksellers,  and  projected  some  extensive  works, 
for  which  he  received  advances  of  money. 

To  find  quietude  for  study,  and  to  avoid  the  tempta- 


GOLDSMITH,  117 

tions  of  life  in  town,  he  left  Brick  Court  at  times,  and 
lived  in  seclusion  at  a  place  situate  on  the  Edgware 
Road,  and  seven  miles  distant  from  London.  There  he 
wrote  a  "  History  of  Rome,"  and  a  considerable  part  of 
the  "  History  of  Animated  Nature."  He  found,  mean- 
while, relief  in  pleasant  rural  walks,  and  was  cheered  by 
the  friendship  of  a  genial  family,  the  Hornecks,  with 
whom  he  enjoyed,  in  1/70,  an  excursion  to  Paris.  In 
that  year  appeared  his  poem  "  The  Deserted  Village," 
of  which  five  editions  were  sold  in  three  months.  In 
1773  the  comedy  "She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  was  first 
performed  at  Covent  Garden,  and  won  for  the  manager 
more  than  £400.  But  the  success  was  not  enough  to 
pay  all  the  writer's  debts.  While  lovers  of  cheerful 
comedy  were  laughing  at  Tony  Lumpkin,  the  author 
was  wearily  proceeding  with  his  work  on  "Animated 
Nature,"  for  which  he  had  already  received  payment. 
Then  he  wrote  his  "  Grecian  History,"  and  projected  a 
"  Dictionary  of  Arts  and  Sciences,"  an  enterprise  for 
which  no  encouragement  could  be  found.  To  save  him 
from  oppressive  work  and  care,  his  friends  made  endea- 
vours to  obtain  for  him  a  pension ;  but  he  had  already 
refused  to  sell  himself,  and  accordingly  his  claims  were 
left  unnoticed. 

In  1774  Goldsmith  owed  £2000.  He  was  only  forty- 
five  years  oldj  and  might  trust  that  he  had  still  energy 
enough  to  liberate  himself  from  debt.  Too  late  he 
thought  of  leaving  Brick  Court,  and  going  away  to  work 


ii8  ENGLISH  POETS. 

quietly  once  more,inhis  seclusion  near  the  Edgware  Road. 
Overwork  and  anxiety  were  killing  him.  His  father  and 
his  brother  Henry  had  been  called  away  by  death.  He 
had  no  wife,  no  relative  to  console  him.  His  cheerful- 
ness sometimes  shone  out  again  at  the  club  ;  but  he  was 
often  restless  and  moody,  even  when  he  was  surrounded 
by  his  friends.  About  this  time  he  was  grieved  by  a 
stroke  of  satire  aimed  at  some  of  his  conversational 
failures,  such  as  were  made  when  he  was  talking  at  the 
club.  At  a  coffee-house,  where  several  literary  friends 
were  present,  it  was  agreed  between  Garrick  and  Gold- 
smith that  each  should  make  an  epitaph  for  the  other, 
and  the  actor  at  once  produced  these  lines  : — 

"  Here  lies  Nolly  Goldsmith,  for  shortness  called  Noll, 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  and  talked  like  poor  Poll." 

Of  course  the  company  laughed ;  but  the  poet  felt 
"  rather  sore,"  and  declined  making  a  reply  there  and 
then.  At  home  [or  say  rather  in  Brick  Court]  he  wrote 
the  verses  called  "  Retaliation,"  full  of  his  native  good- 
humour,  but  including  this  retort  upon  the  player : — 

"  On  the  stage  he  was  natural,  simple,  affecting, 
'Twas  only  that  when  he  was  off  he  was  acting." 

"  Retaliation "  was  the  writer's  last  production.  In 
March,  1774,  when  suffering  from  disease  induced  by 
overwork,  he  persisted  too  long  in  treating  his  own  case. 
A  physician  was  at  last  called  in,  and  held  out  some 
hope  of  recovery ;  but  anxiety  made  futile  all  medical 


GOLDSMITH.  119 

aid.  When  the  physician  kindly  asked,  "  Is  your  mind 
at  ease?"  the  patient  briefly  answered,  "No,  it  is  not." 
These  were  the  last  words  spoken  by  Oliver  Goldsmith. 
He  died  in  the  morning  of  Monday,  the  4th  of  April, 
1774.  His  friend,  Mary  Horneck,  came  from  the  retreat 
on  the  Edgware  Road  to  ask  for  a  lock  of  his  hair.  On 
the  staircase  of  his  chambers  in  Brick  Court  stood 
mourners ;  no  relatives,  but  poor  persons  and  some 
"  outcasts  "  of  society,  whose  misery  had  been  relieved 
by  his  charity.  His  remains  were  laid  in  the  Temple 
burial-ground.  No  complete  and  well- written  story  of 
Goldsmith's  life  was  ever  published  before  the  year 

I8S4-1 

Goldsmith's  writings  are  popular  in  the  right  sense  of 
the  word.  The  passing  noise  often  called  "  popularity  " 
is  one  thing ;  the  quiet  voice  of  the  people  is  another. 
"There  are  few  writers,"  says  Irving,  "for  whom  the 
reader  feels  such  personal  kindness  as  for  Oliver  Gold- 
smith, for  few  have  so  eminently  possessed  the  magic 
gift  of  identifying  themselves  with  their  writings.  We 
read  his  character  in  every  page,  and  grow  into  familiar 
intimacy  with  him  as  we  read.  The  artless  benevolence 
that  beams  through  his  works  ;  the  whimsical  yet  amiable 
views  of  human  life  and  human  nature;  the  unforced 
humour,  blending  so  happily  with  good  feeling  and  good 
sense,  and  singularly  dashed  at  times  with  a  pleasing 

1  "  Life  and  Times  of  Goldsmith,"  by  John  Forster.     1854. 


120  ENGLISH   POETS. 

melancholy  ;  even  the  very  nature  of  his  mellow,  flowing, 
and  softly-tinted  style : — all  seem  to  bespeak  his  moral 
as  well  as  his  intellectual  qualities,  and  make  us  love  the 
man,  at  the  same  time  that  we  admire  the  author." 
Thus  speaks  a  genial  American  writer.  On  the  other 
side,  all  that  can  be  said  against  Goldsmith  has  been 
keenly  said  by  a  brilliant  critic,  in  sharp  tones  that  seem 
to  have  called  forth  no  popular  echoes.  The  tones  of 
"the  mellow  horn"  travel  further  than  the  shrill  notes 
of  the  fife.  Some  years  before  Goldsmith's  death,  his 
writings  were  read  with  delight  in  Germany. 

If  a  word  might  be  changed,  Pope's  summary  of  Gay's 
character  might  serve  for  Goldsmith's.  He  was  in  mind 
a  man,  and  in  simplicity  a  child.  In  many  instances  the 
transition  from  youth  to  manhood  casts  into  shade  all 
traits  of  childhood.  His  knowledge  of  the  evil  that  is  in 
the  world,  and  in  his  own  heart,  makes  the  man  reserved, 
prudent,  and  cautious.  He  wears  the  armour  of  "the 
man  who  feareth  always,"  and  is  less  joyous  than  in  his 
youthful  time,  but  more  secure.  He  is  a  dry,  hard 
politician,  and  has  for  ever  "  put  away "  all  the  foibles 
and  the  amiable  qualities  of  childhood.  Such  is  the 
experience  of  many  a  normal  "  man  of  the  world."  But 
Goldsmith's  soul  never  suffered  such  a  change  as  that. 
His  practical  life  was,  in  some  respects,  erroneous  and 
unhappy ;  but  his  heart  was  never  hardened  by  adver- 
sity, as  others  have  too  often  been  by  prosperity.  The 
pervading  motive  of  his  best  writings  was  to  plead  for 


GOLDSMITH.  121 

kind  relations  between  distinct  classes  of  society.  He 
pleaded  for  the  poor,  for  the  wretched,  even  for  the 
criminal  "who  had  no  helper."  He  made  beautiful 
that  religion  of  which  St.  James  was  a  teacher.  Chaucer 
has  described  beautifully  the  character  of  "  The  Poor 
Parson,"  and  Wordsworth  has  written  fine  poetry  on 
the  same  subject ;  but  nothing  said  by  these  poets  can 
be  compared  with  Goldsmith's  portraiture  of  a  rural 
pastor : — 

"  Near  yonder  copse  where  once  the  garden  smiled, 
And  still  where  many  a  garden-flower  grows  wild  ; 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year. 
Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 
Nor  e'er  had  changed,  nor  wished  to  change  his  place. 
Unskilful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power 
By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour  ; 
Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 
More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 
His  house  was  known  to  all  the  vagrant  train, 
He  chid  their  wanderings,  but  relieved  their  pain  ; 
The  long-remembered  beggar  was  his  guest, 
Whose  beard  descending  swept  his  aged  breast  ; 
The  ruined  spendthrift,  now  no  longer  proud, 
Claimed  kindred  there  and  had  his  claims  allowed  ; 
The  broken  soldier,  kindly  bade  to  stay, 
Sat  by  his  fire  and  talked  the  night  away, 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds  or — tales  of  sorrow  done — 
Shouldered  his  crutch,  and  showed  how  fields  were  won. 
Pleased  with  his  guests,  the  good  man  learned  to  glow, 
And  quite  forgot  their  vices  in  their  woe  ; 
R 


ENGLISH  POETS. 

Careless  their  merits  or  their  faults  to  scan, 
His  pity  gave  ere  charity  began. 

"  Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 
And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side ; 
But  in  his  duty,  prompt  at  every  call, 
He  watched  and  wept,  he  prayed  and  felt  for  all. 
And  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries 
To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies  j 
He  tried  each  art,  reproved  each  dull  delay, 
Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

"  Beside  the  bed  where  parting  life  was  laid, 
And  sorrow,  guilt,  and  pain  by  turns  dismayed, 
The  reverend  champion  stood.    At  his  control, 
Despair  and  anguish  fled  the  struggling  soul ; 
Comfort  came  down  the  trembling  wretch  to  raise, 
And  his  last  faltering  accents  whispered  praise. 

"  At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place ; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevailed  with  double  sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man 
With  steady  zeal  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 
E'en  children  followed,  with  endearing  wile, 
And  plucked  his  gown,  to  share  the  good  man's  smile ; 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  expressed ; 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed ; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 


BURNS. 

OBERT  BURNS  was  born  in  a  cottage  near 
Alloway  Church,  Ayrshire,  on  the  25th  of 
January,  1759.  His  father,  William  Burns, 
was  for  some  time  overseer  of  an  estate  at 
Doonholm,  and,  seven  years  after  the  birth  of  his  eldest 
son,  he  went  to  a  small  farm,  where  for  twelve  years 
he  worked  hard  to  win  bread  from  poor  soil.  In  the 
latter  part  of  that  time  he  was  assisted  by  his  two  sons, 
Robert  and  Gilbert,  who  were  compelled  to  support 
themselves  before  they  were  twenty  years  old.  Their 
father  was  a  devout  man,  who  had  an  independent  spirit 
and  a  strong  will.  To  him  they  were  indebted  for  their 
moral  training  and  their  earliest  religious  impressions. 
Shortly  before  their  father's  death,  Robert  and  Gilbert 
took  a  small  farm  at  Mossgiel,  and  there  laboured  to 
maintain  themselves  and  the  rest  of  the  Burns  family. 
After  four  years  of  work  on  the  farm,  Robert,  despairing 


124  ENGLISH  POETS. 

of  success,  tried  to  gain  an  appointment  as  manager  of 
an  estate  in  Jamaica,  but  could  hardly  raise  money 
enough  to  pay  for  his  passage.  Other  difficulties  at  the 
same  time  presented  themselves,  and  his  mind  was 
deeply  depressed.  He  had  then  won  the  affection  of 
Jean  Armour,  the  daughter  of  a  farmer,  who  would  not 
let  her  marry  a  man  so  poor  as  Robert  Burns. 

When  twenty-seven  years  old,  Burns  had  written 
several  of  his  best  poems.  His  education,  at  that  time, 
included  a  fair  knowledge  of  English  grammar  and  a 
little  French,  with  arithmetic,  mensuration,  and  land- 
surveying.  For  higher  culture  he  was  mostly  indebted 
to  borrowed  books,  "  The  Spectator,"  Pope's  "  Homer," 
works  of  fiction  by  Richardson,  Sterne,  Smollett,  and 
Mackenzie ;  the  poems  of  Ramsay,  Fergusson,  Shen- 
stone ;  above  all,  Thomson's  "Seasons."  At  a  later 
time,  Burns  called  Goldsmith  "  my  favourite  poet,"  and 
spoke  very  highly  of  Cowpcr's  "Task."  The  satirical 
tone  of  some  poetry  written  by  Burns,  at  Mossgiel,  may 
be  partly  ascribed  to  the  influence  of  his  friend  and  land- 
lord, whose  opinions  were  "  free  "  or  "  heterodox."  He 
was  therefore  called  a  reprobate,  and  was  otherwise  cen- 
sured. To  defend  his  friend,  Burns  wrote  several  satirical 
pieces,  full  of  audacity  and  humour.  On  the  other  hand, 
recollections  of  his  own  father's  piety  inspired  the  Poet 
when  he  wrote  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night." 

At  the  time  when  Robert  Burns  was  thinking  of  going 
out  to  Jamaica,  his  friends  suggested  the  notion  that 


D  URNS. 


125 


perhaps  he  might  publish,  by  subscription,  a  volume  of 
his  poems,  and  so  gain  a  little  money.  Accordingly  the 
volume  was  issued  in  1786  from  an  obscure  press  at 
Kilmarnock,  and  600  copies  were  sold.  Of  a  second 
edition,  published  at  Edinburgh  in  the  next  year,  2,800 
copies  were  sold.  Meanwhile  the  "Ayrshire  plough- 
man" was  invited  to  the  city,  introduced  into  society, 
literary  and  fashionable,  and  made  an' object  of  curiosity 
as  well  as  of  genuine  admiration.  His  defects  in  educa- 
tion were  hardly  betrayed  in  conversation,  excepting  the 
passages  in  which  he  introduced  scraps  of  French,  such 
as  are  found  here  and  there  in  his  letters.  He  main- 
tained his  independent  character  in  the  city  ;  but  received 
there  some  impressions  that  did  not  make  him  a  happier 
man.  He  could  think  as  well  as  write  verses,  and  when 
he  went  home  to  his  rural  solitude,  he  sometimes  mused, 
perhaps  too  deeply,  on  inequalities  of  rank  and  honour 
in  society.  Out  of  the  money  gained  by  his  poems,  he 
sent  to  his  brother  £200. 

Soon  after  his  return  to  Ayrshire,  where  he  was 
gladly  welcomed  by  relations  and  friends,  Burns  married 
Jean  Armour,  and  took  the  farm  of  Ellisland  near  Dum- 
fries. There  he  went  to  dwell  with  his  wife,  and  a  short 
time  of  happiness  passed  away.  To  increase  the  small 
income  to  be  obtained  by  farming,  he  had  already  asked 
for  a  place  in  the  Excise,  and  it  was  soon  granted  with  a 
salary  of  £50  a  year.  But  the  work  of  the  farm  could 
not  well  be  carried  on  in  connection  with  an  exciseman's 


126  ENGLISH   POETS. 

duties.  He  therefore  gave  up  farming,  and  in  1791  went 
to  live  at  Dumfries,  where  his  income  was  raised  to  £70 
a  year.  He  performed  so  well  the  duties  of  his  office, 
that  he  escaped  censure,  at  a  time  when  supervision  was 
strict  and  watchful.  A  contrary  assertion  has  been  erro- 
neously founded  on  the  fact,  that  Burns  once  received 
some  admonition  respecting  his  freedom  in  talking  of 
political  affairs.  Like  some  thousands  at  that  time 
(1792)  he  hoped  that  some  good  would  come  out  of 
the  French  Revolution.  He  had  seized  lately  a  small 
smuggling  craft,  and  when  her  stores  were  sold  he 
bought  four  carronades,  and  shipped  them  as  a  present 
to  the  French  Convention.  For  this  act  he  received  an 
admonition,  which  had  no  reference  to  any  neglect  in 
doing  an  exciseman's  work.  In  an  annotated  register  of 
officers'  names  for  the  "  Dumfries  Collection,"  two  notes 
placed  opposite  the  name  Robert  Burns  are  these : — 
"  Turns  out  well."  "  The  Poet  does  pretty  well."  It 
seems  clear,  then,  that  he  fulfilled  his  duties ;  but  it  can 
hardly  be  supposed  that  his  five  years  at  Dumfries  were 
happy.  His  work  and  his  associations  too  often  led  him 
away  from  his  wife  and  family,  and  exposed  him  to 
temptations.  During  the  years  spent  at  his  father's 
farm  and  at  Mossgiel,  his  temperance  and  frugality  were 
remarkable,  and  his  expenses  never  exceeded  his  narrow 
income.  At  Dumfries  he  was  too  often  found  in  taverns, 
where  his  associates  were  men  for  whom  his  wit  and 
humour  were  but  accompaniments  of  convivial  excess. 


BURNS.  I27 

He  yielded  to  temptation,  and  he  suffered  bitterly.  The 
intemperance  that,  for  some  hardy,  boon  companions, 
seemed  almost  innocuous,  was  a  swift  poison  for  Burns, 
whose  nervous  system  was  always  delicate,  even  when 
he  had  the  muscular  strength  required  by  an  Ayrshire 
ploughman. 

While  he  was  still  poor,  and  his  health  was  declining, 
he  was  contributing  to  Thomson's  "  Select  Scottish  Melo- 
dies" a  series  of  songs,  including  some  of  his  most 
beautiful  specimens  of  lyrical  poetry,  and  some  adapta- 
tions of  old  songs.  For  these  contributions,  and  for  all 
the  expenditure  of  time  demanded  by  a  long  correspon- 
dence with  Thomson,  the  Poet  refused  to  accept  any 
remuneration.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that 
the  correspondence  referred  to  served  often  to  cheer 
his  mind  during  the  latest  and  most  unhappy  period  of 
his  life.  At  that  time  he  still  remembered  too  well  the 
youthful  dreams  and  aspirations,  so  finely  described  in 
"  The  Vision."  From  the  noise  of  common-place  life  in 
Dumfries,  he  loved  to  retire  to  a  lonely  resting-place, 
near  the  ruins  of  Lincluden  Abbey,  which  suggested  a 
theme  for  one  of  his  later  poems.  The  following  lines, 
expressing  a  love  of  harmony  and  repose,  are  remark- 
ably contrasted  with  many  other  poems  written  by 

Burns : — 

"  Hark  !  what  more  than  mortal  sound 
Of  music  breathes  the  pile  around  ? 
Tis  the  soft  chanted  choral  song 
Whose  tones  the  echoing  aisles  prolong, 


128  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Till,  thence  returned,  they  softly  stray 
O'er  Cluden's  wave,  with  fond  delay ; 
Now  on  the  rising  gale  swell  high, 
And  now  in  fainting  murmurs  die. 

"The  boatmen  on  Nith's  gentle  stream 
Suspend  their  dashing  oars  to  hear 
The  holy  anthem  loud  and  clear ; 
Each  worldly  thought  awhile  forbear, 
And  mutter  forth  a  half-formed  prayer." 

It  has  been  noticed  that  for  his  beautiful  songs,  written 
while  he  was  living  at  Dumfries,  Burns  would  not  accept 
any  payment ;  but  when  he  was  lying  on  his  death-bed, 
he  wrote  to  Thomson,  asked  earnestly  for  a  loan  of  £5, 
and  thus  made  an  apology  for  the  request :  "  A  haber- 
dasher, to  whom  I  owe  an  account,  taking  it  into  his 
head  that  I  am  dying,  has  commenced  a  process,  and 
will  infallibly  put  me  into  gaol.  Do,  for  God's  sake,  send 
me  that  sum,  and  that  by  return  of  post.  Forgive  me 
this  earnestness  ;  but  the  horrors  of  a  gaol  have  made 
me  half  distracted.  .  .  .  Forgive,  forgive  me  ! " 

A  few  days  after  writing  that  painful  note  Robert 
Burns  died,  on  the  2 1st  of  July,  1796.  His  debts,  which 
were  small,  were  paid  by  friends,  and  a  fund  was  raised 
for  the  support  of  his  widow  and  her  family.  His 
remains  were  interred  in  a  corner  of  the  churchyard  at 
Dumfries,  and,  seven  years  after  his  death,  a  sum  of 
money  was  collected  to  erect  a  monument.  At  that 
time  Wordsworth  visited  the  grave  of  Burns,  and,  soon 
afterwards,  wrote  the  following  stanza  : — 


BURNS.  129 

"  Through  busiest  street  and  loneliest  glen 

Are  felt  the  flashes  of  his  pen ; 

He  rules  'mid  winter  snows,  and  when 

Bees  fill  their  hives  ; 
Deep  in  the  general  heart  of  men 

His  power  survives." 

The  poetry  of  Burns,  though  mostly  lyrical  in  its  ele- 
ments, as  in  forms  of  expression,  includes  lyrical-dra- 
matic poems  and  others  that  may  be  called  reflective. 
Of  his  narrative  style  "Tarn  o'  Shanter "  is  the  most 
splendid  example.  The  reflective  poems,  mostly  written 
in  the  form  of  "  Epistles,"  are  full  of  genial  humour.  The 
Poet's  worst  productions  are  his  epigrams  and  epitaphs. 
Shortly  before  his  death,  "he  lamented  that  he  had 
written  many  (satirical)  epigrams  on  persons  against 
whom  he  entertained  no  enmity." 

Accepting  the  word  lyrical  in  its  stricter  sense,  as 
applied  to  songs  set  to  music,  we  may  affirm,  that 
Burns  was  the  greatest  of  all  the  lyrical  poets  of  Great 
Britain.  But  he  was  more  than  that ;  he  was  a  lyrical- 
dramatic  poet,  whose  humour  was  as  rich  as  his  pathos 
was  deep.  Though  his  poems  are  mostly  lyrical  in  their 
form,  as  in  their  spirit,  he  had  a  truly  dramatic  genius ; 
of  all  endowments  the  most  extraordinary.  It  is  with 
reference  to  this  dramatic  power,  to  its  essential  char- 
acter but  not  to  its  development,  that  the  "Ayrshire 
ploughman  "  may  be  named  in  the  same  breath  with 
Shakespeare.  The  hawthorn-blossom  and  the  rose 
belong  to  one  family,  and,  with  regard  to  the  essential 
s 


130  ENGLISH  POETS. 

character  of  his  genius,  Burns  claims  relationship  with 
the  greatest  of  poets.  With  respect  to  mental  grasp, 
development,  and  universality,  it  is  agreed  that  no  poet 
can  be  placed  anywhere  near  Shakespeare. 

All  the  poems  written  by  Burns  may  be  well  printed 
in  one  small  volume.  No  book  of  poetry  written  by  one 
man  contains  in  so  small  a  compass  so  much  variety. 
The  author  made  a  full  confession  in  his  poetry,  and 
gave  to  the  world  the  story  of  his  life.  His  own  char- 
acter is  found  by  no  means  on  every  page,  but  in  the 
complete  series  of  his  poems,  taken  as  a  whole.  To 
hear  the  variety  of  his  tones  we  take,  not  alone  the 
wondrous  tale  of  "  Tarn  o'  Shanter,"  nor  the  farewell  to 
"  Highland  Mary,"  nor  that  addressed  to  "  The  bonnie 
banks  of  Ayr."  From  these  we  turn  to  "  The  Daisy," 
"  The  wee  bit,  Mousie,"  and  to  that  beautiful  idyl,  "  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night."  What  a  contrast  when  we 
turn  to  the  playful  humour  of  "  Hallowe'en,"  the  grim 
humour  of  "  Death  and  Doctor  Hornbook,"  the  satire 
of  "  The  Holy  Fair,"  the  melodious  revelry  of  "  The 
Beggars'  Cantata,"  and  the  quaint  blending  of  all 
imaginable  contrasts  in  the  inimitable  "  Address  to  the 
Deil ! "  The  variety  already  indicated  is  great,  though 
only  two  of  the  author's  songs  have  been  noticed. 

In  union  with  wide-spread  sympathy  and  imaginative 
power,  the  poet  had  a  perfect  command  of  melodious 
expression.  The  beauties  of  his  finest  songs  are  not 
fairly  estimated  by  solitary,  silent  reading.  They  have 


BURNS.  131 

in  themselves  such  music  that,  when  well  read  aloud, 
they  want  no  accompaniments  to  make  them  charming. 
Of  censure  only  one  word  may  here  be  noticed.  The 
Poet,  when  dwelling  on  his  own  favourite  theme,  love, 
fails  here  and  there  to  maintain  self-control  and  reserve; 
essential  elements  in  art  and  in  life.  But  in  his  lyrical, 
as  in  his  reflective  poetry,  fine  expressions  of  pure  senti- 
ments are  abundant.  A  dissertation  on  friendship  has 
not  the  power  of  the  song  "  Auld  Lang  Syne,"  and  a 
lecture  on  independence  is  not  wanted  after  such  a  song 
as  "  For  a'  That."  The  "  Epistle  to  a  Young  Friend " 
combines  some  qualities  of  a  good  song  with  those  of 
a  good  sermon.  In  several  lectures  and  essays,  moral 
lessons  of  great  value  have  been  derived  from  the  Poet's 
own  experience.  This,  however,  was  better  done  by 
himself,  in  the  stanzas  entitled  "A  Bard's  Epitaph." 
Two,  that  may  be  given  here,  have  reference  to  the  later 
years  of  his  short  lifetime  : — 

"  Is  there  a  man  whose  judgment  clear 

Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer, 

Yet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career, 
Wild  as  the  wave ; 

Here  pause — and,  through  the  starting  tear, 
Survey  this  grave. 

"  The  poor  inhabitant  below 

Was  quick  to  learn,  and  wise  to  know, 

And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow 

And  sober  flame ; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low, 

And  stained  his  name." 


132  ENGLISH   POETS. 

The  influence  of  Burns  on  the  culture  of  poetry  was 
most  beneficial.  He  must  be  classed  with  Thomson, 
Cowper,  and  Wordsworth,  as  one  of  the  men  who,  after 
a  rather  dreary  age  of  literature,  restored  to  poetry  its 
union  with  Nature,  and  with  the  ordinary  cares,  joys,  and 
sorrows  of  human  life.  To  use  a  German  phrase,  "he 
did  not  snatch  his  themes  out  of  the  air,"  nor  go  looking 
for  them  in  cloud-land  or  dream-land ;  but  he  found 
them  in  his  own  district  of  Ayrshire.  Beside  all  the 
movement  and  variety  of  his  human  figures,  we  find 
everywhere  in  his  poetry  Nature  sympathizing  with  every 
mood  of  his  mind,  and  surrounding  all  with  her  own  life. 
Late  autumn  sighed  with  him  when  he  said  "  Farewell, 
the  bonnie  banks  of  Ayr!"  "The  wind  blew  as  'twad 
blawn  its  last,"  when  the  immortal  "Tarn  o'  Shanter" 
rode  forth : — 

"  The  rattlin'  showers  rose  on  the  blast ; 
The  speedy  gleams  the  darkness  swallowed ; 
Loud,  deep,  and  lang  the  thunder  bellowed. 
That  night  a  child  might  understand, 
The  Deil  had  business  on  his  hand." 

No  poet  has  ever  had  in  England  a  popularity  like 
that  of  Burns  in  his  native  land.  There — 

"  Deep  in  the  general  heart  of  men 
His  power  survives." 

The  story  of  his  life  has  been  so  often  told,  that  it  is 
known  by  every  reader  in  Scotland.1  Several  monu- 

1  Of  all  biographies  of  Burns  the  most  complete  is  one  written 
by  Robert  Chambers. 


BURNS.  133 

ments  have  been  erected  to  his  memory,  and  the  editions 
of  his  poems  that  have  been  published  since  1800  cannot 
be  readily  counted.  In  January,  1859,  the  centenary  of 
the  Poet's  birthday  was  celebrated  by  a  festival  held  at 
the  Crystal  Palace,  Sydenham.  Odes  and  other  poems  on 
"  Burns  "  were  then  produced,  in  competition  for  a  prize, 
which  was  awarded  to  an  Ode  written  by  a  Scottish 
lady.  Another  and  a  shorter  poem  written  on  that 
occasion  may  serve  to  conclude  this  brief  memoir  of 
Burns : — 

"  He  was  a  bard  whose  harp,  like  Nature's  own, 
Had  many  chords  and  every  change  of  tone. 
In  Summer,  airs  that  played  o'er  '  banks  and  braes  ' 
Made  music  sweet,  in  concord  with  his  lays; 
And  when  he  said  '  Farewell,  ye  banks  of  Ayr,' 
Stern  Winter  sighed  in  concert  with  despair. 

"  Now  with  a  sudden  change,  as  in  a  dream, 
He  tells  of  moonlit  dell  and  haunted  stream  ; 
Of  sprites ;  of  fairies  dancing  on  the  green ; 
Of  all  the  rural  pranks  of  Hallowe'en. 

"  Or,  while  he  thinks,  with  many  a  guess  and  fear, 
Of  present  grief  and  of  a  prospect  drear, 
It  grieves  the  ploughman,  when  the  glittering  share 
Uproots  '  the  mountain  daisy '  he  would  spare. 

"  His  love  spreads  widely,  like  the  light  that  falls 
On  lowly  dwellings  and  on  palace  walls. 
But  most  he  loves  to  share  the  joys  obscure 
And  tell '  the  simple  annals  of  the  poor ; ' 
Or — lays  of  lighter  tone  forgotten  now — 
Beside  the  Cotter's  '  ingle-cheek'  to  bow. 


134  ENGLISH  POETS. 

"  The  pensive  man  who,  on  the  banks  of  Ayr, 
Oft  mused,  at  close  of  day,  '  oppressed  by  care,' 
Shall  mourn  no  more.     The  solitary  hour, 
The  gathering  twilight,  and  the  fading  flower, 
His  own  drear  life,  the  sorrows  of  mankind, 
No  more  shall  grieve  his  sympathetic  mind. 

"  Then  mourn  not  though  the  voice,  that  had  such  skill 

To  charm  the  listener,  is  for  ever  still. 

Immortal  life  all  dying  forms  pervades ; 

Still  lives  the  grass,  though  perish  all  the  blades. 

The  splendour,  fading  in  the  western  sky, 

Fades  but  to  shine,  and  only  seems  to  die — 

For  ever  dying,  ever  newly  born, 

Setting,  while  rising  in  another  morn. 

"  So  lives  the  Poet's  song ;  in  hearts  that  thrill 
To  hear  its  music,  he  is  with  you  stilL 
'Twas  but  a  life  of  grief  that  passed  away  ; 
His  own  true  life  is  here  with  you,  to-day." 


WORDSWORTH. 

ILLIAM  WORDSWORTH,  the  son  of 
John  Wordsworth,  an  attorney,  was  born 
at  Cockermouth  (in  Cumberland)  on  the 
7th  of  April,  1770.  A  strong  will  and  a  love 
of  freedom  were  the  leading  traits  of  his  boyhood.  His 
early  training,  by  no  means  severe,  was  highly  favourable 
to  the  development  of  both  mental  and  physical  health. 
When  nine  years  old,  he  was  sent  to  a  school  at  Hawks- 
head,  a  market  village,  where — as  he  tells  us — 

"  The  grassy  church-yard  hangs 
Upon  a  slope  above  the  village  school." 

There  he  was  near  Coniston  Water  and  Winandermere. 
In  his  later  boyhood  and  youth  he  paid  visits  to  relations 
living  at  Penrith,  spent  many  holiday  hours  in  Lowther 
Park,  and  roamed  among  hills  and  lakes,  filling  his  mind 
with  all  the  imagery  reflected  so  faithfully  in  his  poetry. 
At  that  time  he  says — 


136  ENGLISH  POETS. 

"  The  sounding  cataract 
Haunted  me  like  a  passion ;  the  tall  rock, 
The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 
Their  colours  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  me 
An  appetite,  a  feeling,  and  a  love 
That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm 
By  thought  supplied." 

When  seventeen  years  old  he  was  sent  to  Cambridge, 
where  he  read  discursively,  and  sometimes  in  moods  of 
depression  turned  to  mathematical  study.  He  graduated 
as  B.A.  in  1791.  Meanwhile  his  mind  had  been  disturbed 
by  the  political  excitement  of  the  time.  Like  many 
others,  he  hailed  with  great  joy  the  first  movement  of 
the  Revolution  in  Paris.  Soon  after  the  fall  of  the 
Bastile,  he  twice  visited  France,  where  his  sympathy 
with  Brissot's  party  exposed  him  to  some  danger.  In 
1793  he  returned  to  England,  and  here  published  the 
poems  entitled  "  Descriptive  Sketches  "  and  "  An  Even- 
ing Walk  ;"  but  his  more  earnest  thoughts  were  still 
devoted  to  politics.  In  the  following  year  he  was  in 
London,  and  there  made  some  endeavours  to  establish  a 
Republican  journal.  His  chief  aim  was  to  denounce  the 
coalition  against  France.  But  while  he  was  studying  the 
affairs  of  Europe,  his  own  circumstances  were  precarious. 
His  father,  who  died  in  1787,  left  for  his  family  little 
more  than  a  claim  on  the  Lowther  Estate,  for  which  he 
had  been  employed  as  a  law-agent.  The  claim  was  con- 
siderable ;  but  payment  was  long  deferred,  and  mean- 
while William  Wordsworth  hardly  knew  how  he  might 


WORDSWORTH.  137 

provide  means  to  meet  his  own  moderate  expenditure. 
At  this  time  he  received  a  legacy  of  £900.  The  money 
was  faithfully  employed  in  accordance  with  the  donor's 
will,  to  which  the  Poet  thus  thankfully  refers  in  one  of 
his  sonnets :  — 

"  CALVERT  !  it  must  not  be  unheard  by  them 
Who  may  respect  my  name,  that  I  to  thee 
Owed  many  years  of  early  liberty. 
This  care  was  thine,  when  sickness  did  condemn 
Thy  youth  to  hopeless  wasting,  root  and  stem, 
That  I,  if  frugal  and  severe,  might  stray 
Where'er  I  liked,  and  finally  array 
My  temples  with  the  Muse's'  diadem. 
Hence,  if  in  freedom  I  have  loved  the  truth  ; 
If  there  be  aught  of  pure,  or  good,  or  great, 
In  my  past  verse ;  or  shall  be  in  the  lays 
Of  higher  mood  which  now  I  meditate : — 
It  gladdens  me,  O  worthy,  short-lived  youth  ! 
To  think  how  much  of  this  will  be  thy  praise." 

The  legacy  of  £900  and  his  own  frugality  made  a  sure 
basis  for  Wordsworth's  subsequent  welfare,  and  gave  him 
both  courage  and  power  to  write  such  poetry  as  might 
fairly  express  his  belief  respecting  his  own  vocation. 
Accordingly,  about  the  time  when  the  career  of  Burns 
was  closed,  and  the  Dumfries  volunteers  were  firing 
three  volleys  over  his  grave,  the  career  of  Wordsworth, 
who  loved  and  honoured  Burns,  was  beginning.  To  find 
quietude  for  study  the  Poet,  accompanied  by  his  sister 
Dorothy,  whose  tastes  were  like  his  own,  retired  to-  a 
rural  district  in  Somersetshire.  There  he  lived,  first  at 
T 


138  ENGLISH  POETS. 

a  spot  near  Crewkerne,  and  latterly  near  Stowey,  a 
pleasant  place  two  miles  distant  from  the  sea,  and  lying 
among  woodlands,  downs,  and  many  narrow  valleys. 
Here  Wordsworth,  in  concert  with  his  brother  poet 
Coleridge,  produced  a  volume  of  poems,  entitled  "  Ly- 
rical Ballads,"  which  gave  rise  to  a  controversy  re- 
specting such  "  poetic  diction  "  as  had  been  admired  in 
the  eighteenth  century.  Wordsworth  maintained  that 
our  pure  English  of  every-day  life  should  be  employed 
as  the  natural  language  of  poetry,  when  its  themes  be- 
long to  ordinary  life.  The  attacks  of  critics  soon  led  him 
to  write  in  his  own  defence  a  series  of  prefaces  and  ap- 
pendices, which  contain  rich  materials  for  a  treatise  on 
poetry,  but  are  defective  with  respect  to  method. 

The  publication  of  the  ballads  was  followed  by  a  visit 
to  Germany.  There  Wordsworth  talked  with  the  veteran 
poet  Klopstock,  and  for  some  time  stayed  at  Goslar,  a 
mining  town  in  the  Harz  district.  After  his  return  to 
England,  he  lived  with  his  sister  at  Grasmere,  and  in 
1802  married  his  cousin  Mary  Hutchinson,  the  lady 
whom  he  thus  describes  : — 

"  A  perfect  Woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  Spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  angelic  light." 

After  his  marriage,  the  Poet's  sister  Dorothy  still  re- 
mained with  him,  and  to  her  influence  may  be  ascribed 
the  refined  beauty  of  many  passages  in  his  poetry.  She 


WORDSWORTH.  139 

was  his  companion  in  1803  when,  with  Coleridge,  they 
made  a  tour  in  Scotland.  One  of  their  first  visits  was  to 
the  grave  of  Burns,  over  which  no  memorial  stone  had  then 
been  laid.  From  the  churchyard  they  went  to  his  house, 
which  "  had  a  mean  appearance,"  but  "  was  cleanly  and 
neat  in  the  inside."  The  tour  supplied  themes  for  several 
poems,  including  the  "Address  to  a  Highland  Girl" — a 
fine  expression  of  ideal  love.  Wherever  he  wandered, 
Wordsworth  found  materials  for  poetry,  and  he  still 
maintained  his  creed,  that  plain  English  is  true  "  poetic 
diction."  That  creed  did  not  excite  contempt  when  he 
wrote  a  poem  on  "  Rob  Roy's  Grave,"  in  which  these 
stanzas  are  found  : — 

"  Heaven  gave  Rob  Roy  a  dauntless  heart 
And  wondrous  length  and  strength  of  arm  ; 
Nor  craved  he  more  to  quell  his  foes, 

Or  keep  his  friends  from  harm. 
*  *  * 

And  thus  among  these  rocks  he  lived, 
Through  summer  heat  and  winter  snow ; 
The  eagle,  he  was  lord  above, 

And  Rob  was  lord  below." 

In  1805  the  Poet  lost  his  brother  John,  who  perished 
in  the  wreck  of  an  East  India  Company's  vessel,  of 
which  he  was  commander.  He  was  one  of  the  elect  few 
who  before  1805  believed  that  his  brother  William  was 
a  great  poet.  In  the  next  year  Wordsworth  completed 
"The  Waggoner,"  a  poem  partly  humorous,  of  which 
the  story  is  very  simple  and  perfectly  true.  "Benjamin  " 


140  ENGLISH  POETS. 

was  the  kind  and  clever  driver  of  a  heavy  wain.  Over 
the  hills  rising  between  Grasmere  and  Keswick  he  had 
long  driven  safely  his  team  ;  but  he  was  sometimes 
tempted  to  stay  too  long  at  the  "  Swan  "  or  the  "  Cherry 
Tree,"  and  at  last  he  yielded  so  far  that  he  lost  his  em- 
ployment. His  kindness  was  partly  the  cause  of  his  fall. 
Finding  a  poor  sailor  overtaken  by  a  storm,  he  gave 
him  shelter  in  the  waggon.  The  friendship  thus  begun 
was  cemented  at  the  "  Cherry  Tree,"  and  ended  in  con- 
vivial excess.  They  stayed  too  long  there — 

"  And  then  what  kindness  in  their  hearts ! 
What  tears  of  rapture,  what  vow-making, 
Profound  entreaties,  and  hand-shaking ! 
What  solemn,  vacant  interlacing, 
As  if  they'd  fall  asleep  embracing ! " 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1807,  Wordsworth  wrote  "  The 
White  Doe  of  Rylstone,"  a  romantic  story  suggested  by 
a  visit  to  Bolton  Priory.  After  all  that  he  had  seen  in 
his  own  native  district,  the  poet  found  great  delight  in 
some  tours  in  Yorkshire,  especially  in  Craven  and  Wens- 
leydale,  and  in  the  valley  of  the  Wharfe.  Meanwhile  he 
did  not  lose  his  care  for  political  affairs ;  but  wrote  a  tract 
on  the  "  Convention  of  Cintra,"  and  a  series  of  patriotic 
sonnets,  breathing  defiance  and  contempt  of  Bonaparte, 
who  was  denounced  as  "the  meanest  of  men."  In  1813 
no  German  author  expressed  exultation  louder  than 
Wordsworth's,  when  grand  disaster  attended  the  inva- 
sion of  Russia.  The  Poet  would  have  spring,  summer, 


WORDSWORTH.  141 

and  autumn  all  united  with  himself  in  singing  the  praises 
of  winter — old  decrepit  winter  ;  for,  says  the  Poet,  "  he 
hath  slain  that  host  which  rendered  all  your  bounties 
vain." 

This  year,  1813,  was  for  Wordsworth  a  time  of  good 
fortune.  His  claims  on  the  Lowther  estate  were  fairly 
recognized  and  discharged  by  his  friend  and  patron  the 
Earl  of  Lonsdale,  from  whom  he  received  also  an  ap- 
pointment as  Stamp  distributor  for  Westmoreland.  He 
then  left  Grasmere  Town  End  and  went  to  Rydal 
Mount,  his  home  during  the  last  thirty-seven  years  of 
his  life.  Another  tour  in  Scotland  was  made  in  1814, 
and  in  the  same  year  "  The  Excursion  "  appeared.  The 
writer  challenged  hostile  criticism  by  making  "a  Scot- 
tish Pedlar "  the  leading  speaker  in  a  poem  treating  of 
religion  and  philosophy.  In  form  "The  Excursion"  is 
partly  conversational,  partly  narrative,  and  some  pas- 
sages may  be  called  sermons  in  blank  verse.  Of  these 
last  the  opening  of  the  fourth  book  is  the  most  eloquent 
example.  Several  passages  serve  to  describe  the  transi- 
tion made  in  the  author's  own  political  views.  In  1798 
"  Peter  Bell "  was  written ;  but  the  manuscript  attained 
majority  before  it  was  sent  to  the  printer  in  the  year 
1819.  The  story  of  the  poem,  when  given  as  a  bare 
outline  and  in  prose,  may  provoke  a  smile ;  but  some  of 
the  author's  finest  stanzas  and  most  original  ideas  are 
found  in  "  Peter  Bell."  A  tour  on  the  continent  was 
greatly  enjoyed  by  Wordsworth  in  1820,  and  in  the 


I42  ENGLISH   POETS. 

same  year  appeared  a  series  of  Sonnets  on  "  The  River 
Duddon."  These  were  followed  (in  1822)  by  "Ecclesi- 
astical Sonnets,"  an  extensive  series  giving,  with  some 
meditative  passages,  the  outlines  of  English  Church 
History. 

The  thirty-seven  years  of  quiet  life  at  Rydal  Mount 
seem  monotonous,  when  reviewed  in  this  summary.  But 
their  course  was  varied  and  often  made  cheerful  by  con- 
genial society,  and  by  correspondence  with  such  friends 
as  Southey,  Coleridge,  and  Lamb — to  say  nothing  of 
many  names  less  known  in  literature.  In  his  apparent 
seclusion  from  the  world,  the  Poet  was  not  left  alone,  for 
his  own  powers  of  mind  peopled  the  solitude.  In  the 
gossip  of  common-place  persons  'he  found  no  recreation, 
as  the  following  lines  may  tell  us  : — 

"  Better  than  such  discourse  doth  silence  long, 
Long,  barren  silence,  square  with  my  desire ; 
To  sit  without  emotion,  hope,  or  aim, 
In  the  loved  presence  of  my  cottage-fire, 
And  listen  to  the  napping  of  the  flame, 
Or  kettle  whispering  its  low  undersong." 

In  the  course  of  five  years  following  1830,  death  called 
away  several  literary  friends  : — Scott,  Crabbe,  Coleridge, 
Lamb,  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  "  the  Ettrick  Shepherd." 
After  1840  the  shades  of  life's  evening  were  gathering  at 
Rydal  Mount.  Failure  of  sight,  long  ago  foreboded, 
gradually  diminished  one  of  the  Poet's  chief  sources  of 
enjoyment.  When  he  wandered  forth  among  the  dales, 


WORDSWORTH.  143 

he  was  compelled  to  wear  a  shade  of  green  gauze  over 
his  eyes.  He  found  it  irksome  to  write  many  letters, 
and  sometimes  referred  to  failing  sight  as  the  source  of 
defects  in  his  handwriting,  described  by  himself  as  "  vile 
at  the  best,"  though  it  was  not  careless.  That  apology 
was  made  in  1841,  when  the  Poet  addressed  to  a  young 
man  who  wrote  verses  a  note  containing  these  words  : 
"  I  cannot,  with  a  sincere  care  for  your  welfare,  advise 
you  to  bestow  on  your  poetry  such  care  and  labour  as 
have  been  expended  on  my  own."  One  of  the  sorrows 
of  Wordsworth's  last  ten  years  was  the  mental  affliction 
that  fell  upon  his  friend,  Robert  Southey,  in  1840.  He 
was  then  incapable  of  making  any  use  of  that  library 
in  which  he  had  for  many  years  found  a  world  of  delight ; 
but  he  would  still  take  down  one  book  after  another, 
"patting  them  with  both  hands,  like  a  child."  In  1843, 
when  Southey  was  released  from  "  death  called  life," 
Wordsworth  was  made  Poet-Laureate.  A  pension  placed 
him  in  easy  circumstances,  and  increasing  fame  made 
some  compensation  for  about  forty  years  of  neglect  and 
contempt.  But  these  rewards  came  late,  and  about  the 
time  when  shades  of  sorrow  darkened  the  Poet's  home. 
Of  these  one  was  the  painful  death  of  his  daughter 
Dora,  which  took  place  in  1847.  Not  long  afterwards, 
the  Poet's  friend,  Hartley  Coleridge,  "the  gray-headed 
young  man  "  who  had  lived  at  Knab  Scar,  near  Rydal 
Mount,  died.  The  sorrows  of  his  life  had  been  clearly 
predicted  by  Wordsworth,  in  some  verses  written  when 


144  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Hartley  was  a  playful  child,  only  six  years  old.  A  re- 
markable instance  of  prevision ! 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH  died  on  the  23rd  day  of 
April,  1850.  His  remains  were  interred  in  Grasmerc 
churchyard.  His  widow,  who  some  years  before  her 
death  was  afflicted  with  loss  of  sight,  died  in  1859. 

Wordsworth's  personal  appearance,  on  ordinary  occa- 
sions, was  more  expressive  of  thought,  self-control,  and 
repose  than  of  poetic  genius.  He  was  temperate,  was  a 
lover  of  pedestrian  exercise,  and  generally  enjoyed  good 
health.  When  failing  sight  compelled  him  to  wear  a 
shade  over  his  eyes,  the  best  trait  in  his  face  was 
eclipsed.  In  earlier  years  his  eyes,  at  times  when  he 
talked  earnestly,  recited  poetry  or  came  home  from  one 
of  his  long  walks,  shone  with  a  remarkably  clear  light, 
and  his  ordinary  aspect  was  then  almost  forgotten.  In 
this  respect  he  was  like  Sir  Walter  Scott,  whose  face 
would  be  suddenly  lit  up  when  he  recited  some  old 
ballad.  The  main  traits  in  Wordsworth's  character  are 
faithfully  given  in  his  poetry.  In  politics  he  was  a  Con- 
servative, and  he  was  a  zealous  advocate  of  national 
education.  He  liked  neither  railways  nor  factories,  and 
he  thought  that  some  so-called  "laws"  of  political 
economy  were  ill-founded  and  harshly  enforced.  To 
appease  discontent  among  working  men  and  end  the 
strife  between  capital  and  labour,  he  recommended,  as 
long  ago  as  in  1835,  some  plans  like  those  now  called 
"  co-operative." 


WORDSWORTH.  145 

His  care  for  the  interests  of  social  and  political  life 
reminds  us  that  Wordsworth  was  one  of  several  remark- 
able men  born  in  1770,  or  about  that  time.  Among 
them  are  found  the  names— Chateaubriand,  Coleridge, 
Fichte,  Hegel,  Schelling,  Schlegel,  Southey,  and  Stef- 
fens.  All  were  old  enough  in  1792  to  be  moved  by  the 
events  of  the  time,  and  their  thoughts  were  more  or  less 
directed  to  social,  political,  and  religious  questions.  They 
were  not  abstract  or  special  men,  as  artists,  or  as  poets, 
or  as  philosophers ;  but  had  an  earnest  care  for  the 
whole  of  human  life,  and,  in  their  several  modes,  they 
endeavoured  to  connect  their  own  ideas  with  practical 
interests.  Southey,  for  example,  who  wrote  the  wild 
tale  of  "  Thalaba,"  wrote  also  a  book  on  "  The  Progress 
of  Society ;"  and  Wordsworth,  who  wrote  sonnets  "  on 
the  River  Duddon,"  wrote  also  a  tract  on  the  "  Poor  Law 
Amendment  Act."  It  is  obvious  that  these  men  of  wide 
sympathies  thus  made  their  own  peculiar  culture  more 
difficult  than  it  might  otherwise  have  been  if  each  had 
rested  content  within  his  own  limits,  as  a  poet,  or  as  a 
philosopher.  Such  men  should  not  be  judged  by  refe- 
rence to  any  narrow  rule.  Some  defects  of  culture, 
especially  in  their  several  styles  of  writing,  may  be 
ascribed  to  the  expansion  of  their  sympathies.  It  is,  of 
course,  more  difficult  to  give  high  finish  to  a  large  than 
to  a  small  picture. 

The  nineteenth  century  has  produced  poets,  and  other 
imaginative  and  ideal  writers,  who,  with  regard  to  their 
u 


i46  ENGLISH   POETS. 

expansion  of  thought  and  sympathy,  are  not  approached 
by  any  writers  of  an  earlier  time.  In  some  minor  re- 
spects, it  might  seem  strange  to  place  together  such 
names  as  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  Shelley,  Thomas  Car- 
lyle,  and  Charles  Kingsley ;  but,  as  men  endowed  with 
poetic  genius,  wide  sympathy  and  an  earnest  desire  for 
the  welfare  of  mankind,  all  belong  to  one  class.  One 
defect,  hardly  avoidable,  their  want  of  artistic  limitation, 
is  more  or  less  noticeable  in  many  of  their  writings,  and 
may  be  mainly  ascribed  to  their  breadth  of  sympathy. 
It  is  quite  true  that  Wordsworth  produced  some  beauti- 
fully finished  poems,  especially  sonnets ;  but  it  is  also 
true  that  he  sometimes  wrote  pieces  that  may  be  fairly 
described  as  sermons  in  verse. 

WORDSWORTH'S  aim  was  to  give  in  verse  all  the  best 
results  of  his  own  meditations  "  on  man,  on  nature,  and 
on  human  life,"  and,  as  he  says  in  other  words,  to  lead 
onward  to  a  great  transition,  or  revolution,  in  the  thoughts 
of  mankind.  He  therefore  treats,  in  his  own  style, 
several  important  questions,  respectively  belonging  to 
social  science,  politics,  and  religion.  His  political  views 
have  already  been  noticed.  His  religious  sentiments  are 
mostly  well  expressed  in  his  poetry.  He  disliked  both 
rationalism  and  controversy,  and  did  not  believe  that 
religion  could  be  founded,  like  practical  mensuration,  on 
"  the  calculating  understanding  " — "  the  proudest  faculty 
of  our  nature,"  as  he  called  it.  He  did  not  find,  as 
others  might,  any  disparity  between  his  natural  theology 


WORDSWORTH.  147 

and  his  Christian  Creed,  and  hardly  knew  what  men 
were  talking  about  when  they  ascribed  "  a  pantheistic 
tendency"  to  some  passages  in  his  poetry.  True;  he 
represented  in  "  The  Excursion  "  his  "  Wanderer  "  as  re- 
ceiving, by  intuition  and  from  the  contemplation  of 
nature,  some  religious  sentiments,  especially  gratitude  ; 
but  that  "  Wanderer's  "  character,  we  are  told,  was  based 
on  a  strictly  Christian  education : — 

"  The  Scottish  Church,  both  on  himself  and  those 
With  whom  from  childhood  he  grew  up,  Had  held 
The  strong  hand  of  her  purity,  and  still 
Had  watched  him  with  an  unrelenting  eye." 

That  Wordsworth  regarded  with  approbation  some 
modes  of  worship  called  "  ritualistic  "  cannot  be  doubted. 
To  these  he  refers  in  many  passages,  of  which  the  follow- 
ing is  one  example : — 

"  Alas,  the  sanctities  combined 

By  art,  to  unsensualize  the  mind, 

Decay  and  languish  ;  or,  as  creeds 

And  humours  change,  are  spurned  like  weeds : 

The  priests  are  from  their  altars  thrust ; 

Temples  are  levelled  with  the  dust ; 

And  solemn  rites  and  awful  forms 

Founder  amid  fanatic  storms." 

With  respect  to  philosophy,  Wordsworth's  general 
notions  were  Platonic ;  but  he  had  no  method,  and  did 
not  attempt  to  reduce  his  ideas  to  any  systematic  form. 
Of  all  these  ideas  he  made  most  prominent  that  of  which 
he  gives  the  poetry  in  an  Ode  written  in  1803-6.  Of  this 


148  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Ode — "  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  Recollections 
of  Early  Childhood  " — the  first  idea  belongs  to  Plato  ; 
but  the  imagery  belongs  to  the  Poet  He  includes  under 
the  name  "heaven"  all  that  Plato  said  of  the  soul's 
primeval  life.  To  this  "  heaven  "  the  Poet  ascribes  the 
spiritual  light  of  which  even  a  faint  shining  is  on  earth 
called  genius  or  inspiration.  Of  that  light  men  retain 
only  some  faint  rays,  such  as  have  escaped  eclipse.  The 
original  light  is  an  eastern  radiance,  to  which  souls  are 
near  in  childhood,  and  from  which  they  recede,  as  in 
later  life  they  travel  on  toward  the  West  : — 

"  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  Boy, 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows, 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 
The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 

Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 
At  length,  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away, 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day." 

There  is  more  originality  in  another  image  introduced 
to  represent  the  same  idea.  The  primeval  life  is  now 
the  Eternal  Ocean  out  of  which  souls  are  cast  forth  on 
the  shore  of  Time.  While  they  dwell,  as  children,  on 
the  shore,  they  hear  the  music  of  the  deep ;  but  it  dies 
away  for  them  as  they  grow  older,  or,  to  use  the  poet's 
figure,  as  they  travel  farther  "  inland."  Still,  in  "  calm 


WORDS  IVOR  TH.  149 

weather,"  when  the  winds  [of  earthly  passions]  are  sleep- 
ing, the  souls  of  men  have  a  vision  of  the  sea  and  hear 
its  music : — 

"  Hence,  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 

Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  Souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 

Which  brought  us  hither, 

Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, 
And  see  the  Children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore." 

Is  WORDSWORTH  "  a  great  Poet "  ?  Since  the  time 
of  his  death,  the  voices  that  answer  "  Yes  "  have  steadily 
increased  in  number.  Critics  have  truly  said,  that  all 
poetry  must  be  divided  into  three  classes : — lyrical,  epic, 
and  dramatic.  Wordsworth  wrote  excellent  ballads  and 
some  longer  stories  in  verse;  but  he  can  hardly  be 
called  a  great  epic  poet,  and  his  genius  was  not  dra- 
matic. His  best  poetry  is  lyrical  and  reflective.  The 
question  may  be  raised — "  Is  lyrical-reflective  poetry  to 
be  included  in  the  first  of  the  three  classes  already 
named  ? "  In  other  words,  may  the  acceptation  of  the 
term  "  lyrical "  be  extended,  so  as  to  include  all  imagi- 
native productions  of  thought  and  feeling  when  they 
possess  the  traits  originality,  individuality,  sympathy, 
and  are,  moreover,  associated  with  harmonious  forms  of 
diction?  If  this  more  extended  definition  of  "  lyrical " 
is  rejected,  a  great  deal  of  what  the  world  has  accepted 
for  good  poetry  must  be  rejected.  But  if  the  class 
"  lyrical  "  includes  lyrical-reflective  productions,  then  in 


ISO  ENGLISH   POETS. 

this  class  WORDSWORTH  is  one  of  our  greatest  poets. 
With  regard  to  his  originality,  his  purity  of  diction,  in 
familiar  as  in  elevated  forms  of  expression,  the  truth  of 
imagery  found  in  his  poems,  their  meditative  pathos,  sub- 
limity of  imagination,  and  playfulness  of  fancy, — in  all 
these  respects  his  merits  have  hardly  yet  received  due 
acknowledgment.  His  verse,  though  on  the  whole  har- 
monious, has  not  always  the  perfect  music  found  in  the 
best  lyrical  poems  of  Collins,  Burns,  Coleridge,  Moore, 
and  Tennyson.  But  with  some  of  Wordsworth's  true 
sonnets,  only  two  or  three  written  by  Milton  can  be 
compared.  To  show  that  such  praise  is  not  too  high, 
it  is  enough  to  refer  to  one  sonnet  beginning  with  the 
words,  "  The  world  is  too  much  with  us,"  or  to  the  fol- 
lowing sonnet,  "  composed  on  Westminster  Bridge,"  in 
the  early  morn  of  September  3rd,  1802  : — 

"  Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair  : 

Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 

A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty : 

This  City  now  doth,  like  a  garment,  wear 

The  beauty  of  the  morning ;  silent,  bare, 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 

Open  unto  the  fields,  and  to  the  sky ; 

All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air, 

Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 

In  his  first  splendour,  valley,  rock,  or  hill ; 

Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep ! 

The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will : 

Dear  God !  the  very  houses  seem  asleep; 

And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still ! " 


WORDSWORTH.  151 

The  most  frequent  of  all  defects  found  in  the  Poet's 
versification,  is  the  use  of  an  unaccented  syllable  instead 
of  a  true  rhyme.  This  error  is  found  in  the  writings  of 
other  poets  ;  but  it  is  especially  noticeable  as  a  blemish 
in  some  of  Wordsworth's  sonnets,  on  which  he  bestowed 
great  care.  The  moral  and  intellectual  elements  of  his 
poetry  may  now  be  more  distinctly  noticed. 

"  Poetry,"  says  a  critic,  "  consists  in  the  fine  perception, 
the  vivid  expression  of  that  subtle  and  mysterious 
analogy  which  exists  between  the  physical  and  the 
moral  world."  This  general  notion,  though  incomplete, 
truly  defines  some  of  the  finest  passages  in  Words- 
worth's writings.  Here  the  joys  and  the  sorrows  of 
human  life  are  marvellously  blended  and  interfused  with 
the  surrounding  life  of  nature.  The  Poet  is  like  a 
painter  who  sets  before  us  a  human  family,  painted  in 
tones  that  harmonize  with  those  of  a  surrounding  land- 
scape. One  feeling  pervades  the  whole  picture.  This 
first  and  chief  trait — the  union  of  conscious  with  uncon- 
scious life — belongs  to  the  Poet's  intense  love  of  the 
earth,  his  dwelling-place.  He  is  not  alone  when  left 
without  human  society;  but  is  conscious  that  in  his 
solitude  he  is  "  one  among  many,"  as  he  says  in  "  The 
Excursion  :" — 

.     .     .     "  How  divine 
The  liberty  for  frail,  for  mortal  man, 
To  roam  at  large  among  unpeopled  glens 
And  mountainous  retirements,  only  trod 
By  devious  footsteps  ;  regions  consecrate 


152  ENGLISH  POETS. 

To  oldest  time !  and  reckless  of  the  storm 
That  keeps  the  raven  quiet  in  her  nest, 
Be  as  a  presence  and  a  motion — one 
Among  the  many  there." 

The  Poet's  love  of  all  surrounding  life  finds  objects  in 
lowly  wild  flowers.  To  him  these  can  give — 

"  Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears." 
He  sees,  with  delight,  "  a  crowd,  a  host  of  golden  daffo- 
dils," and  afterwards — 

"  They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude." 

The  daisy  and  the  small  celandine  were  two  of  the 
Poet's  favourite  flowers,  and  the  foxglove  was  another. 
He  implored  botanists  not  to  pluck  rare  wild  flowers, 
and  at  his  request  many  a  tree  that  had  been  doomed 
to  fall  was  spared.  In  his  rambles  among  hills  he  would 
clamber  up  the  rocks  to  drop  into  crevices  seeds  of  trees 
and  shrubs,  to  grow,  as  he  said,  "  for  the  good  of  pos- 
terity." Kindness  to  animals  was  another  of  his  traits, 
and  of  course  it  is  reflected  in  his  writings.  The  same 
trait  is  noticeable  in  Cowper,  Burns,  Byron  and  Shelley. 
The  sympathy  of  Wordsworth  with  creatures  less  power- 
ful than  man,  but  not  made  to  be  tortured,  is  nobly 
expressed  in  "  Hart  Leap  Well,"  especially  in  these 
lines  : — 

"  The  Being  that  is  in  the  clouds  and  air, 
That  is  in  the  green  leaves  among  the  groves, 
Maintains  a  deep  and  reverential  care 
For  the  unoffending  creatures  whom  he  loves." 


WORDSWORTH.  1153 

It  has  been  rather  too  boldly  said,  there  is  "nothing" 
dramatic  in  Wordsworth's  poetry ;  but  it  is  true  that  his 
writings  contain  only  slight  indications  of  dramatic 
genius.  His  stories  introduce  a  few  life-like  characters, 
but  these  belong  to  a  comparatively  simple  class.  Each 
represents  mostly  one  sentiment,  or  is  made  more  dis- 
tinct by  a  union  or  a  contrast  of  two  qualities.  Thus 
"  Margaret "  (in  "  The  Excursion  ")  is,  at  one  time,  a 
woman  in  whose  life  "  love  and  peace  "  are  united,  and, 
at  a  later  time,  she  is  a  model  of  patience.  There  is 
some  individuality  in  the  sketch  of  "  Matthew,"  the  vil- 
lage schoolmaster,  who  was  a  lover  of  boyish  "fun,"  and, 
at  the  same  time,  was  capable  of  profound  thought : — 

"  The  sighs  which  Matthew  heaved  were  sighs 
Of  one  tired  out  with  fun  and  madness; 

The  tears  which  came  to  Matthew's  eyes 
Were  tears  of  light,  the  dew  of  gladness. 

"  Yet,  sometimes,  when  the  secret  cup 
Of  still  and  serious  thought  went  round, 

It  seemed  as  if  he  drank  it  up — 
He  felt  with  spirit  so  profound." 

Other  examples  of  individuality  in  sketches  of  cha- 
racter may  be  found  in  the  sixth  and  seventh  books  of 
"  The  Excursion  ;"  but  for  an  example  of  more  graphic 
portraiture  we  must  turn  to  "  Peter  Bell  "  : — 

"  How  one  wife  could  e'er  come  near  him 
In  simple  truth  I  cannot  tell; 
For  be  it  said  of  Peter  Bell, 
To  see  him  was  to  fear  him. 
X 


154  ENGLISH   POETS. 

"  A  savage  wildness  round  him  hung, 

As  of  a  dweller  out  of  doors  ; 

In  his  whole  figure  and  his  mien 

A  savage  character  was  seen 

Of  mountains  and  of  dreary  moors. 

"  To  all  the  unshaped,  half-human  thoughts 

Which  solitary  Nature  feeds, 

'Mid  summer  storms  or  winter's  ice, 

Had  Peter  joined  whatever  vice 

The  cruel  city  breeds. 

"  There  was  a  hardness  in  his  cheek, 
There  was  a  hardness  in  his  eye, 
As  if  the  man  had  fixed  his  face, 
In  many  a  solitary  place, 
Against  the  wind  and  open  sky. 

"  He  roved  among  the  vales  and  streams, 
In  the  green  wood  and  hollow  dell ; 
They  were  his  dwellings  night  and  day — 
But  Nature  ne'er  could  find  the  way 
Into  the  heart  of  Peter  Bell. 

"  In  vain,  through  every  changeful  year, 
Did  Nature  lead  him  as  before ; 
A  primrose  by  a  river's  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him 
And  it  was  nothing  more. 

"  At  noon  when,  by  the  forest's  edge 
He  lay  beneath  the  branches  high, 
The  soft  blue  sky  did  never  melt 
Into  his  heart ;  he  never  felt 
The  witchery  of  the  soft  blue  sky." 

Wordsworth's  sketches  of  women  are  often  beautiful ; 
but  are  mostly  like  portraits  of  angels.    Three  examples 


WORDSWORTH.  155 

of  this  class  may  be  found  in  "  The  Triad."  Of  love  the 
Poet  writes  mostly  in  a  calm  and  meditative  tone,  but  a 
remarkable  exception  is  seen  in  the  story  of  "  Vaudra- 
cour  and  Julia."  Stories  of  love  betrayed  are  often  as 
commonplace  as  they  are  sad  ;  but  no  commonplace  can 
be  found  in  "  Ruth,"1  a  poem  in  which  fine  imagery  is 
blended  with  emotion.  In  "  Laodamia  "  love  is  treated 
in  a  tone  that  may  be  called  severe ;  but  the  poem  in- 
cludes some  noble  passages.  Wordsworth  did  not — like 
too  many  poets  who  "  harp  upon  one  string" — treat  with 
neglect  such  beautiful  themes  as  parental,  filial,  and 
fraternal  love. 

A  few  words  might  be  added  on  the  author's  more 
distinctly  religious  poems ;  but  in  truth  the  whole  strain 
of  his  poetry  is  religious.  No  poet  has  ever  written 
with  more  reverential  feeling ;  none  has  ever  expressed 
more  earnestly  a  love  of  peace,  reconciliation,  and  har- 
mony. His  poetry  belongs  to  two  worlds  which,  in  his 
view,  are  not  separated  from  each  other.  He  finds,  even 
in  this  transitory  life,  some  expressions  of — 

.     .     .     "  central  peace,  subsisting  at  the  heart 
Of  endless  agitation." 

He  sheds  over  this  present  life  the  light  of  immor- 
tality, and  speaks  of  "  the  sublime  attractions  of  the 
grave."  The  Poet's  duty,  as  understood  by  Words- 
worth, is  not  to  excite,  but  to  quell  the  storms  of  passion. 
The  love  on  which  he  mostly  loves  to  dwell  is — 

.     .     .     "  such  love  as  Spirits  feel 
In  worlds  whose  course  is  equable  and  pure." 


156  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Such  poetry  as  Wordsworth  produced  does  not  build 
cloud-palaces  and  people  the  sky  with  dreams,  but  dwells 
among  men ;  soothes,  relieves,  and,  if  possible,  banishes 
their  cares,  and  elevates  their  pleasures ;  clothes  every- 
day life  in  hues  of  imagination,  and  makes  religion  at 
once  venerable  and  domestic.  Of  no  man  can  we  say 
more  truly  than  of  Wordsworth,  that  his  writings  and 
his  life  are  inseparable.  His  poetry  is  a  confession,  and 
describes  his  own  experience.  The  biography  of  "  The 
Wanderer  "  is  partly  the  story  of  the  Poet's  own  educa- 
tion. One  passage  in  that  story  may  serve  to  conclude 
this  essay : — 

"  O  then  what  soul  was  his  when,  on  the  tops 

Of  the  high  mountains,  he  beheld  the  sun 

Rise  up,  and  bathe  the  world  in  light !     He  look'd  — 

Ocean  and  earth,  the  solid  frame  of  earth 

And  ocean's  liquid  mass,  beneath  him  lay 

In  gladness  and  deep  joy.     The  clouds  were  touch'd, 

And  in  their  silent  faces  did  he  read 

Unutterable  love.     Sound  needed  none, 

Nor  any  voice  of  joy;  his  spirit  drank 

The  spectacle ;  sensation,  soul,  and  form 

All  melted  into  him;  they  swallow'd  up 

His  animal  being;  in  them  did  he  live, 

And  by  them  did  he  live :  they  were  his  life. 

In  such  access  of  mind,  in  such  high  hour 

Of  visitation  from  the  living  God, 

Thought  was  not ;  in  enjoyment  it  expired. 

No  thanks  he  breathed,  he  proffer'd  no  request ; 

Rapt  into  still  communion  that  transcends 

The  imperfect  offices  of  prayer  and  praise, 

His  mind  was  a  thanksgiving  to  the  Power 

That  made  him  ;  it  was  blessedness  and  love ! " 


SCOTT. 

ALTER  SCOTT,  son  of  Walter  Scott,  a 
writer  to  the  Signet,  was  born  in  Edin- 
burgh, on  the  1 5th  of  August,  1771.  During 
his  boyhood,  lameness  attended  with  frail 
health  made  him  sometimes  a  hermit,  and  led  to  a  love 
of  reading.  While  other  boys  were  studying  Latin 
grammar,  he  enjoyed,  at  Kelso,  a  long  holiday  made 
delightful  by  reading  Percy's  "  Reliques  of  Ancient  Eng- 
lish Poetry."  He  afterwards  passed  through  the  High 
School  and  University  of  his  native  place,  studied  law, 
and  in  his  twenty-first  year  was  admitted  a  member  of 
the  Society  of  Advocates.  Meanwhile  his  health  became 
robust ;  but  the  lameness  of  the  right  leg  remained  for 
life. 

The  freedom  enjoyed  by  Scott  during  youth  made 
possible  the  herculean  exploits  of  his  later  life.  After  his 
call  to  the  bar,  law-studies  partly  engaged  his  attention  ; 


158  ENGLISH  POETS. 

but  he  was  active  as  one  of  the  cavalry  officers  in  a  band 
of  volunteers.  In  "  Marmion "  he  refers  to  his  jovial 
hours  in  the  mess-room,  and  to  all  the  pleasures  of  a 
time  when  he  studied  German  poetry  and  translated 
Burger's  "  Leonora." 

In  1797  Scott  married  Charlotte  Margaret  Carpenter, 
a  lady  of  French  parentage,  and  soon  afterwards  he 
obtained  the  appointment  of  Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire, 
worth  £300  per  annum.  The  leisure  afforded  by  this 
office  was  partly  employed  in  making  tours,  for  the 
purpose  of  collecting  the  old  popular  ballads  which 
appeared,  in  1802-3,  under  the  title  "  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border."  About  the  same  time  the  Poet  found 
a  charm  in  the  old  style  of  versification  of  which  Cole- 
ridge had  given  a  specimen  in  "  Christabel."  This  old 
style  (by  error  called  "new")  was  adopted  by  Scott  in 
his  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  a  Border  Romance, 
published  in  1805.  Its  popularity  was  marvellous,  and 
the  author  was  hailed  as  one  who  had  suddenly  dis- 
covered a  new  world  of  epic  poetry.  Of  its  traditions 
and  its  scenery  he  had  been  an  enthusiastic  student. 
Meanwhile,  he  had  also  studied  well,  and  with  sym- 
pathy, the  histories  of  Jacobite  families  implicated  in 
the  movement  of  1745.  Of  this  he  intended  to  give 
some  description  in  a  prose  romance  called  "Waver- 
ley."  About  seven  chapters  were  written  in  1805  ;  then 
the  work  failed  to  please  the  writer,  and  he  laid  aside 
the  manuscript  in  a  desk  where  he  kept  fishing-tackle. 


SCOTT.  i59 

The  success  of  the  "  Lay  "  encouraged  the  Poet,  and 
in  1808  he  produced  "  Marmion,"  a  tale  of  Flodden 
Field.  This  is  a  metrical  romance  more  ambitious  than 
the  first,  and  contains  some  fine  specimens  of  graphic 
narration.  The  hero — a  creature  of  fiction,  having  no 
connection  with  the  old  Marmion  family  of  West  Tan- 
field — was  described  by  Byron  as — 

"  Not  quite  a  felon,  yet  but  half  a  knight." 

"Marmion"  was  followed  by  a  more  popular  romance, 
"  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  which  was  published  in  1810, 
and  was  generally  accepted  as  the  best  of  the  author's 
poems.  Its  adventures  have  variety  and  its  scenery  is 
picturesque.  Scott  never  wrote  in  verse  anything  more 
energetic  than  the  fifth  canto,  in  which  he  describes  the 
duel  of  the  Gael  and  the  Saxon.  In  the  course  of  the 
years  1811-14  appeared  "  Rokeby,"  of  which  the  scenery 
is  English,  an-d  "  The  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  a  story  of 
Bruce  and  of  the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  Among  several 
later  writings  in  verse  none  can  be  compared  with 
"  Marmion,"  or  with  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake."  After 
the  great  success  of  1810,  Scott's  popularity  was  quietly 
waning ;  but  no  formidable  rival  appeared  before  the 
year  1812,  when  Byron  published  the  first  two  cantos 
of  his  "  Childe  Harold,"  which  were  soon  followed  by 
his  oriental  stories.  Then  Scott  wisely  turned  away 
from  verse  writing  to  prose  fiction.  He  brought  out, 
from  their  hiding-place  among  fishing-tackle,  the  seven 


160  ENGLISH  POETS. 

chapters  of  "  Waverley,"  and  completed  the  story,  which 
was  published  in  1814,  the  year  in  which  Wordsworth's 
"Excursion"  and  Byron's  "Corsair"  appeared.  The 
splendid  success  of  "  Waverley,"  to  which  the  author  did 
not  prefix  his  name,  made  him  resolute  in  wearing  a 
mask,  though  to  Scottish  literary  men,  endowed  with 
keen  insight,  it  soon  became  transparent.  In  the  course 
of  the  two  years  1815-16  he  published — without  giving 
his  name — "  Guy  Mannering,"  "  The  Antiquary,"  and 
"  Old  Mortality."  Of  these  three  stories  the  second  and 
the  third  are  classed  with  the  author's  best  works.  The 
second  reveals  some  fine  traits  in  his  own  character. 
The  third  is  full  of  energy  and  contains  many  bold  con- 
trasts of  character  and  situation. 

Meanwhile,  a  series  of  successes,  hardly  interrupted  by 
any  serious  failure,  during  the  ten  years  1805-16,  served 
more  and  more  to  excite  ambition.  Scott  would  win 
something  more  than  a  poet's  fame.  He  would  be  one 
of  the  proprietors  of  the  land  he  loved  so  well,  and  would 
found  a  family  holding  a  good  position  among  the  aristo- 
cracy of  Scotland.  To  attain  this  end  he  entered  into 
partnership  with  an  enterprising  friend  who  was  a 
printer,  and  a  series  of  bold  speculations  in  a  publishing 
business  soon  followed.  By  combining  authorship  with 
commercial  enterprise,  the  Poet  hoped  to  make  himself 
owner  of  a  considerable  landed  estate.  If  any  poet 
might  have  success  in  such  an  undertaking,  Scott  was 
surely  the  man.  But  the  commercial  world  demands 


SCOTT.  161 

the  service  of  an  undivided  heart ;  the  devotion  of  a 
whole  life.  If  men  who  think  of  nothing  else  often  fail 
in  striving  to  gain  wealth,  what  can  a  poet  do  ?  For 
some  years  Fortune  smiled  on  Scott's  great  enterprise, 
and  in  1811  he  began  making  preparations  for  building 
Abbotsford — "  his  romance  in  stone  and  mortar."  First 
of  all,  he  bought  a  hundred  acres  of  moorland  near 
Melrose,  on  the  banks  of  the  Tweed.  Then  followed 
more  extensive  purchases  of  land,  expenditure  for  drain- 
ing, building,  planting,  and  gardening,  and  in  the  midst 
of  a  considerable  estate  arose,  at  last,  the  baronial  resi- 
dence of  Abbotsford — a  marvellous  realization  of  the 
Poet's  day-dream  !  Here,  in  his  mansion  near  the  Tweed, 
it  was  his  delight  to  entertain  visitors  of  all  classes : — 
princes,  peers,  lawyers,  soldiers,  poets,  and  literary  men. 
How  was  it  possible  that  he  could  still  be  adding  volume 
to  volume  in  his  long  series  of  novels  and  romances  ? 
His  habit  of  early  rising  solves  the  problem.  For  study 
and  writing  he  still  reserved  some  quiet  hours  in  the 
morning.  For  the  rest  of  the  day  his  sole  care  was  to 
entertain  his  guests  and  to  make  his  own  family  happy. 

In  1815  Scott  visited  France,  and  in  London  was  in- 
troduced to  his  young  rival,  Lord  Byron,  who  at  that 
time  was  idolized.  He  had  satirized  the  author  of 
"  Marmion  ;"  but  that  was  all  forgotten.  They  met 
each  other  with  feelings  of  cordial  friendship.  Subse- 
quently, when  the  days  of  idolatry  had  passed  away, 
Scott  said  all  that  he  could  in  defence  of  his  rival,  and 
Y 


162  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Byron  always  spoke  with  fraternal  kindness  when  he 
named  Scott,  whom  he  sometimes  playfully  called 
"Watty."  Of  all  the  praise  bestowed  on  the  Waverley 
novels  and  romances,  Byron's  was  the  highest.  He  said 
that,  when  he  read  them,  they  made  him  long  to  be  a 
good  man. 

In  1818  "Old  Mortality "  was  followed  by  "Rob  Roy," 
a  defective  story  enlivened  with  novel  contrasts  of  cha- 
racter, and  in  the  same  year  appeared  "  The  Heart  of 
Mid-Lothian,"  of  which  the  heroine,  Jeanie  Deans,  is 
immortal.  Then  followed  "The  Bride  of  Lammermoor," 
remarkable  for  its  prevalent  tragic  tones.  "Coming 
events  "  cast  over  the  opening  scenes  shadows  that  grow 
darker  as  the  story  approaches  its  conclusion.  A  splen- 
did work  of  fiction,  founded  on  English  history  and 
called  "  Ivanhoe,"  appeared  in  1820,  the  year  in  which 
the  author  was  made  a  baronet.  In  "  Ivanhoe "  the 
portraiture  of  a  Jewish  Maiden  was  evidently  "  a  labour 
of  love."  "  I  think  I  shall  make  something  of  my 
Jewess,"  said  Scott,  when  talking  with  the  friend  to 
whom  a  part  of  the  romance  was  dictated.  "  You  will, 
indeed,"  replied  his  friend  ;  "  and  I  cannot  help  saying, 
that  you  are  doing  an  immense  good,  Sir  Walter,  by 
such  sweet  and  noble  tales ;  for  the  young  people  now 
will  never  bear  to  look  at  the  vile  trash  of  novels  that 
used  to  be  in  the  circulating  libraries."  Sir  Walter's 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  Though  he  had  gained  by 
"  Ivanhoe  "  great  popularity  in  England,  he  found  in  his 


SCOTT.  163 

native  land  the  subjects  of  his  next  two  stones,  "The 
Monastery "  and  "  The  Abbot."  The  former  was  re- 
garded as  a  failure  ;  the  latter  was  made  attractive  by  a 
portraiture  of  Maria  Stuart.  The  character  of  her  rival, 
Queen  Elizabeth,  was  delineated  in  "  Kenilworth,"  a 
story  animated  with  dramatic  interest  and  enriched  with 
picturesque  descriptions.  Fresh  scenery  was  introduced 
in  "  The  Pirate,"  in  which  the  fair  sisters  Minna  and 
Brenda  appeared.  From  the  Shetland  Isles,  the  author, 
in  his  next  story,  led  his  readers  away  to  London  and 
to  the  Court  of  James  the  First,  whose  character  is  de- 
scribed in  "The  Fortunes  of  Nigel."  This  novel  was 
soon  followed  by  "  Peveril  of  the  Peak,"  and  "  Quentin 
Durward."  The  latter,  founded  on  French  history,  in- 
troduces the  characters  of  Louis  the  Eleventh  and 
Charles  the  Bold.  The  love-story  included  in  the  work 
is  told  with  admirable  reserve  and  good  taste.  In  the 
course  of  the  years  1823-6,  Scott  produced,  besides  the 
two  last-named,  five  works  of  fiction  : — "  St.  Ronan's 
Well,"  " Redgauntlet,"  "The  Betrothed,"  "The  Talis- 
man," and  "  Woodstock." 

For  all  his  enormous  amount  of  work,  the  author  re- 
ceived payment  mostly  in  the  shape  of  bills,  having 
value  dependent  on  the  success  of  the  firm  in  which  he 
was  a  partner.  While  speculations  failed  one  after 
another,  and  losses  became  more  and  more  serious,  he 
still  hoped  that  hard  work  might  overcome  all  financial 
difficulties.  Then  came  the  disastrous  years  1825-6. 


1 64  ENGLISH  POETS. 

The  bold  schemes  of  preceding  years  then  ended  in  a 
general  wreck,  involving  the  firm  to  which  Scott  be- 
longed. He  was  responsible,  in  1826,  for  a  debt  amount- 
ing to  ;£n7,ooo.  Refusing  to  make  any  composition 
with  creditors,  he  prayed  only  for  time,  that  he  might 
work  out  his  own  liberation.  Retiring  to  quiet  lodgings 
in  Edinburgh,  he  there  devoted  himself  to  a  series  of 
literary  tasks  of  which  only  a  few  can  be  noticed  here. 
These  include  annotations  and  introductions  for  a  new 
edition  of  his  novels  and  romances  ;  a  "  History  of  Scot- 
land ;"  "  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  "  Anne  of  Geier- 
stein,"  and  the  two  inferior  stories,  "  Count  Robert  of 
Paris,"  and  "  Castle  Dangerous " — both  written  when 
health  of  body  and  mind  was  broken  down.  Of  all  the 
drudgery,  the  most  severe  was  writing  a  work  of  little 
value — the  "  Life  of  Napoleon,"  which  filled  nine 
volumes.  During  the  last  five  years  of  his  life,  Scott 
worked  like  Hercules  and  like  a  galley-slave.  He  won 
the  victory ;  but  it  cost  the  victor's  life,  and  it  might  be 
said  that  he  was  crowned  at  the  moment  when  he  fell 
exhausted.  In  1830  he  resolutely  went  on  working, 
though  a  stroke  of  paralysis  had  warned  him  that  the 
end  must  be  near.  Jn  the  following  year  he  was  per- 
suaded to  go  and  rest  awhile  at  Naples  ;  but  it  was  too 
late.  A  few  days  before  his  departure  for  Italy,  he  was 
visited  by  Wordsworth,  with  whom  he  took  a  walk  along 
the  banks  of  the  Yarrow.  At  that  time  he  could  still 
call  to  mind,  with  pleasure,  some  lines  in  old  ballads  ; 


SCOTT.  I6s 

but  his  mind  was  incapable  of  sustained  effort.  In  con- 
versation he  would  begin  a  story  well  ;  but  before  he 
reached  the  point,  he  would  stop  and  look  around  him 
"  with  the  blank  anxiety  of  look  that  a  blind  man  has, 
when  he  has  dropped  his  staff."  When  he  returned 
from  Italy,  in  the  summer  of  1832,  there  was  no  hope  of 
his  life.  He  was  brought  home  to  die  at  Abbotsford. 
There,  soon  after  noon  on  the  2ist  of  September,  he 
breathed  his  last  "  It  was  a  beautiful  day,  so  warm 
that  every  window  was  wide  open,  and  so  perfectly  still, 
that  the  sound  of  all  others  most  delicious  to  his  ear 
— the  gentle  ripple  of  the  Tweed  over  its  pebbles — was 
distinctly  audible "  in  the  chamber  where  his  children 
were  kneeling  beside  his  bed.1 

So  mighty  had  been  the  efforts  made  by  Scott  in  the 
sublime  task  of  paying  his  debts  that,  when  he  died  and 
his  life  assurances  were  realized,  he  left  undischarged 
only  a  debt  of  .£30,000.  For  this  the  copyright  of  his 
novels  and  romances  supplied  abundant  means  of  pay- 
ment. Mr.  Cadell,  the  publisher  who,  by  accepting  as 
his  own  the  remaining  debt,  gained  possession  of  the 
whole  copyright,  died  in  1849,  leaving  for  his  family  a 
fortune  of  ;£ioo,ooo.  Since  that  time  several  extensive 
and  some  remarkably  cheap  editions  of  the  novels  and 
romances  have  appeared.  Their  popularity  has  already 
lasted  for  more  than  half  a  century. 

1  "  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,"  by  J.  G.  Lockhart. 


r66  ENGLISH  POETS. 

In  youth  Scott's  personal  appearance  was,  in  spite  of 
his  lameness,  eminently  manly,  and  indicated  such  health 
and  strength  as,  in  the  olden  time,  might  have  made  him 
a  comrade  of  moss-troopers.  The  circumference  of  his 
head  was  comparatively  small ;  but  the  brow  had  a 
noble  elevation.  In  his  later  years  he  had,  when  un- 
excited,  a  placid  expression  that  might  otherwise  be 
called  grave  or  pensive ;  but  when  he  was  talking  of 
legendary  lore,  or  reciting  some  old  ballad,  his  face 
would  be  suddenly  lighted  up  in  a  remarkable  manner. 
His  smile  expressed  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  and  his 
love  of  playful  and  humorous  conversation. 

To  estimate  the  wealth  of  Scott's  genius,  the  formal 
distinction  of  prose  and  verse  must  be  set  aside.  His 
novels,  romances,  and  metrical  writings  must  all  be 
viewed  as  a  series  of  narrative  or  epic  poems.  He  ex- 
tended widely  the  range  of  prose  fiction,  and  gave  to  it 
the  enthusiasm  and  dignity  of  true  poetry.  Some  of  the 
finest  passages  in  his  romances — for  example,  the  sea- 
side storm  in  "  The  Antiquary" — have  been  called  "  de- 
scriptive ;"  but  they  contain  something  better  than  cold 
description.  They  are  at  once  graphic  and  narrative, 
and  blend  human  interest  and  emotion  with  surrounding 
aspects  of  nature.  There  is  life  and  vivid  expression  in 
Scott's  landscapes,  as  in  his  so-called  "historical  pic- 
tures." He  gives  animation  to  the  old  and  faded  portraits 
of  history.  He  draws  aside  the  veil  of  antiquity,  and 
sets  before  us  in  daylight  the  institutions  of  feudalism. 


SCOTT.  167 

His  world  of  the  olden  time  is  peopled  by  men  repre- 
senting all  ranks  in  society.  With  regard  to  the  number 
of  his  creations  and  to  the  versatility  of  his  imagina- 
tive power,  he  claims  near  relationship  with  Shakespeare, 
to  whom  he  is  inferior  in  depth  and  in  appeals  to  the 
heart. 

Setting  aside  comparison  with  Milton — whose  great 
work  is  unique,  and  mostly  belongs  to  a  supernatural 
world — Scott  may  be  called  an  epic  poet  without  a  rival 
in  English  literature ;  but  there  are  many  defects  in  his 
works.  His  plots  are  often  incomplete,  and  otherwise 
liable  to  censure.  They  cannot  for  a  moment  be  compared 
with  the  construction  of  Fielding's  great  novel.  Of  the 
stories  written  by  Scott  several  move  on  too  slowly  in  the 
beginning,  and  are  too  hastily  brought  to  a  conclusion. 
The  rapid  succession  of  accidents  leading  to  the  close  of 
"  Rob  Roy"  may  be  fairly  called  ludicrous.  The  author's 
prose  style  is  by  no  means  polished,  and,  while  his  verse 
is  expressive  of  freedom  and  vigour,  its  melody  cannot 
rival  the  music  of  Moore  and  Tennyson.  Such  terse  and 
happy  expressions ;  such  lines  never  to  be  forgotten  as 
we  find  often  in  Wordsworth,  are  rarely  found  in  Scott's 
poetry.  But  these  and  other  formal  defects  are  almost 
forgotten  when  we  turn  to  notice  the  essential  elements 
of  his  writings.  Accepted  as  a  whole,  they  give  us,  in- 
directly, a  true  confession  of  his  own  character.  His 
choice  of  subjects;  the  themes  on  which  he  loves  to 
dwell;  his  indirect  yet  clear  indications  of  love  and 


1 68  ENGLISH   POETS. 

aversion  ;  these  and  other  traits  make  it  a  wonder  that 
Scott  could  ever  be  called  "the  Great  Unknown."  The 
first  half-dozen  of  his  novels  told  the  world  that  the 
author  must  be  a  lawyer,  an  antiquary,  a  poet,  a  hu- 
mourist, and  (in  sympathy)  a  Jacobite. 

Of  all  his  traits  the  most  prominent  is  strong  nation- 
ality. There  never  lived  a  poet  who  loved  more  dearly 
than  Scott  his  native  land.  The  one  great  sorrow  of  his 
life — the  wreck  of  his  fortune — was  closely  associated 
with  that  love  of  Scotland,  to  which  he  gave  expression 
in  his  "  Lay  :" — 

"  By  Yarrow's  stream  still  let  me  stray, 
Though  none  should  guide  my  feeble  way ; 
Still  feel  the  breeze  down  Ettrick  break, 
Although  it  chill  my  withered  cheek ; 
Still  lay  my  head  by  Teviot  stone, 
Though  there,  forgotten  and  alone, 
The  bard  may  draw  his  parting  groan." 

Like  Wordsworth,  Byron,  and  Shelley,  the  author  of 
"Waverley"  extended  his  sympathies  toward  creatures 
placed  lower  than  man  in  Nature's  scale.  But  his 
general  love  of  old  modes  of  life  included  an  imaginative 
delight  in  the  chase,  over  which  he  could  cast  the  spell 
of  his  poetry,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  most  popular  of  his 
metrical  romances.  His  love  of  old  feasts  and  festivals, 
with  all  their  mirth  and  their  good  cheer,  is  made  evi- 
dent in  many  passages  of  prose  and  verse ;  for  one  ex- 
ample a  few  lines  from  "  Marmion  "  may  be  given  : — 


SCOTT.  169 

"  There  the  huge  sirloin  reeked ;  hard  by 
Plum-porridge  stood,  and  Christmas  pie : 
Nor  failed  old  Scotland  to  produce, 
At  such  high  tide,  her  savoury  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  masquers  in, 
And  carols  roared  with  blithesome  din ; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song, 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 

England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 
A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 
The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year." 

Scott's  admiration  of  chivalry  and  valour  led  him  to 
disguise,  with  hues  of  imaginative  splendour,  the  horrors 
of  warfare  ;  the  sad  spectacle  of  "  men  arrayed  for  mu- 
tual slaughter."  The  greater  part  of  military  history 
has  been  described  as  "  nothing  better  than  a  story  of 
deer  hunted  down  by  tigers."  Scott  could  hardly  accept 
such  a  stern  definition.  One  of  his  finest  narrative  pas- 
sages is  the  Battle  of  Flodden,  and  another  is  the  duel 
of  Fitz-James  and  Roderic  Dhu.  But  it  was  the  Poet's 
imagination,  not  his  heart,  that  found  pleasure  in  de- 
scribing the  pomp,  the  splendour,  and  the  excitement  of 
battles.  His  own  serious  thoughts  on  warfare  are  here 
and  there  expressed  ;  for  example,  in  the  third  canto  of 
"  Rokeby  :"— 

"  Ev'n  tiger  fell  and  sullen  bear 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare. 
Man  only  mars  kind  Nature's  plan, 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  man." 
Z 


170  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Scott's  aim  was  to  afford  intellectual  recreation  to  the 
widest  possible  circle  of  readers  ;  but  he  would  not  use 
unworthy  means  of  exciting  "  sensational "  interest.  He 
introduces  characters  of  all  kinds,  except  the  best  and 
the  worst ;  in  other  words,  he  describes  neither  saints 
nor  demons.  He  casts  the  light  of  poetry  and  the  glow 
of  kindness  over  stories  of  virtue  in  lowly  life.  The 
reserve,  respect,  and  good  taste  of  his  love  stories  show 
that  "  he  wore,  without  abuse," 

"  The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman.'' 

He  liked  to  ascribe  some  good  traits  to  the  worst  of 
the  characters  whom  he  described.  One  of  the  hardest 
of  villains  is  represented  as  faithful  in  some  of  his  deal- 
ings. The  "  lock  of  hair  "  and  "  the  verses  "  preserved  as 
relics  by  Bothwell  show  that  he  cherished  one  memorial 
of  pure  love.  "  Rob  Roy"  is  too  good,  in  some  respects, 
to  be  utterly  denounced.  Scott  had  a  profound  respect 
for  rights  of  property ;  but  he  could  discover  some 
good  traits  in  moss-troopers  and  other  marauders.  The 
kindness  generally  expressed  in  his  writings  was  "  the 
master-current "  of  his  own  heart.  A  volume  might  be 
filled  with  true  stories  of  his  good  actions.  He  knew 
nothing  of  envy,  but  found  delight  in  praising  men  who 
might  be  called  his  rivals.  He  admired  Crabbe's  poems, 
and  always  spoke  kindly  of  Byron.  When  Wilson,  as  a 
candidate  for  the  chair  of  moral  philosophy,  was  censured 
on  account  of  some  jovial  passages  in  his  youth,  Scott 


SCOTT.  171 

came  forward  to  defend  him.  Irving,  author  of  "  The 
Sketch-Book,"  was  at  one  time  greatly  indebted  to 
Scott.  He  gained  for  two  of  Allan  Cunningham's 
sons  cadetships  in  the  Indian  Service.  For  examples 
of  Scott's  kindness  and  good  judgment  in  criticism, 
we  may  refer  to  his  commendation  of  the  novels 
written  by  Maria  Edgeworth,  Jane  Austen,  and  Mary 
Ferrier. 

One  of  the  oldest  of  mediaeval  romances  divides  itself 
into  two  parts.  The  first  is  all  worldly  and  military, 
and  seems  to  have  no  moral  aim.  The  other  part  is 
unearthly  and  ascetic.  In  quest  of  sanctity,  the  hero 
resigns  a  kingdom  and  all  the  splendours  of  chivalry. 
He  goes  forth  to  endure  privation  and  solitude,  in  order 
to  find  his  way  to  Heaven.  Earth  and  Heaven,  religion 
and  life,  are  thus  represented  as  separate.  With  such  a 
stern  and  ascetic  mood  of  piety  Scott  had  no  sympathy. 
His  views  of  life  and  society  were  mostly  cheerful, 
hopeful,  and  charitable.  If  that  day-dream  of  building 
Abbotsford  had  not  disturbed  his  peace,  he  would  have 
been  one  of  the  happiest  of  all  men  dwelling  in  the  land 
he  loved  so  well. 

"  He  is  not  dead,  but  lives  for  Scotland  still — 
One  of  her  Guardian  Powers ;  an  unseen  band, 
Who  spread  their  influence  o'er  their  native  land. 
There,  over  pastoral  dale  and  purple  hill, 
On  healthy  moor  and  rocky  height, 
On  many  a  glen,  and  winding  stream, 


172  SCOTT. 

(So  wild  in  winter's  fitful  gleam, 
In  summer  noon  so  calm  and  bright  !) 
On  ruined  shrines  and  castle  walls, 
The  splendour  of  his  genius  falls  ; 
And  on  '  the  huts  where  poor  men  lie  ' 
A  light  is  shed  that  cannot  die." 


BYRON. 

EORGE  GORDON,  Lord  BYRON,  was  born 
in  London  on  the  22nd  of  January,  1788. 
Soon  after  his  birth,  his  mother,  forsaken  by 
her  husband,  returned  to  her  native  land  and 
lived  in  Aberdeen  ;  afterwards  at  Ballater,  on  the  Dee, 
where  the  boy  was  introduced  to  the  wild  scenes  on 
which  the  mountain  Loch-na-Garr  looks  down.  In  his 
eleventh  year  he  returned  to  England,  and  for  some  time 
lived  with  his  mother  at  Nottingham  and  at  Southwell. 
His  early  education  was  often  interrupted  by  his  lame- 
ness, or  rather  by  a  series  of  useless  and  painful  attempts 
to  cure  it.  He  was  handsome  in  other  respects,  his  dis- 
position was  adventurous,  and  he  was  a  lover  of  youthful 
sports  ;  but  he  could  seldom  forget  the  painful  defect  in 
one  of  his  feet  that  made  him  lame.  It  was  one  chief 
source  of  that  discontent  by  which,  at  last,  a  profound 
alteration  was  made  in  his  character.  Though  his  studies 


174  ENGLISH   POETS. 

were  irregular,  he  read  many  books  of  history  and  poetry. 
When  he  was  fourteen  years  old  he  was  sent  to  Harrow. 
At  that  school,  and  afterwards  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, his  reading  was  extensive,  while  his  routine-studies 
were  pursued  in  a  desultory  manner.  Meanwhile  he 
wrote,  now  and  then,  verses,  including  the  poems  which, 
under  the  title  of  "  Hours  of  Idleness,"  were  published  at 
Newark  in  1807.  "The  poesy  of  this  young  lord,"  said 
a  harsh  critic,  "  belongs  to  the  class  which  neither  gods 
nor  men  are  said  to  permit."  The  rest  of  the  review  was 
very  severe.  In  reply,  Byron  wrote  "  English  Bards  and 
Scotch  Reviewers  " — a  satire  containing  many  sayings 
that  he  was  afterwards  sorry  for.  It  by  no  means  ex- 
pressed the  results  of  his  calm  and  deliberate  judgment. 
In  1809,  when  the  satire  appeared,  Byron,  having  at- 
tained majority,  took  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords. 
He  seems  to  have  been  left  at  that  time  in  a  lonely  posi- 
tion. Then  followed  two  years  of  travel,  of  which  recol- 
lections were  given  in  the  splendid  verse  of  "  Childe 
Harold's  Pilgrimage."  Of  this  two  cantos  appeared  in 
1812.  It  was  at  once  made  clear  that  Byron  was  an 
original  poet,  and  one  who— with  respect  to  intense  pas- 
sion and  fervid  eloquence — had  no  living  rival.  In  the 
course  of  five  years  he  produced,  beside  "The  Pilgrimage," 
a  series  of  oriental  stories,  all  full  of  energy,  passion,  and 
bold  imagination  ;  but,  like  "  Childe  Harold,"  expressing 
too  often  the  writer's  own  feeling  of  discontent  and  lone- 
liness. His  popularity  was  unbounded.  As  MR.  DlS- 


BYRON.  175 

RAELI  has  said,  "  There  is  no  instance  in  literary  records 
of  a  success  so  sudden  and  so  lasting  as  Byron's."  The 
general  impression  made  by  his  genius  might  be  com- 
pared with  that  of  a  strong  light,  here  and  there  over- 
clouded, but  often  breaking  forth  with  great  brilliance  in 
the  midst  of  surrounding  gloom.  The  attraction  was 
new  and  powerful.  The  admiration,  the  idolatry  that 
followed  are  truly  described  by  LORD  MACAULAY  :— 

"  Everything  that  could  stimulate,  and  everything  that 
could  gratify  the  strongest  propensities  of  our  nature — 
the  gaze  of  a  hundred  drawing-rooms,  the  acclamations 
of  the  whole  nation,  the  applause  of  applauded  men,  the 
love  of  the  loveliest  women — all  this  world  and  all  the 
glory  of  it  were  at  once  offered  to  a  young  man  to  whom 
nature  had  given  violent  passions,  and  whom  education 
had  never  taught  to  control  them.  He  lived  as  many 
men  live  who  have  no  similar  excuse  to  plead  for  their 
faults.  But  his  countrymen  and  his  countrywomen  would 
love  him  and  admire  him.  They  were  resolved  to  see  in 
his  excesses  only  the  flash  and  outbreak  of  that  same 
fiery  mind  which  glowed  in  his  poetry." 

The  strongest  mind  might  have  been  thrown  down  in 
ruins  by  that  excessive  hero-worship — so  soon  followed 
by  general  reprobation.  But  Byron's  unrest  and  discon- 
tent were  deeply  rooted  in  his  own  nature.  They  were 
confirmed,  but  were  not  first  induced  by  the  errors  and 
the  contradictions  of  his  life.  In  Nature  herself— some- 
times within  the  circle  of  one  family,  too  often  in  the 


i76  ENGLISH   POETS. 

soul  of  an  individual — some  sad  defect  is  found  attending 
an  admirable  faculty.  It  may  be  wholesome  to  explore 
profoundly  and  minutely  the  sources  of  defect,  error,  and 
transgression,  if  that  study  ends,  as  it  ought  to  end,  in  self- 
humiliation.  The  result  is  dreadful  if  it  ends  in  pride. 

In  January,  1815,  Byron  married  Anna  Isabella,  daugh- 
ter of  Sir  Ralph  Milbanke,  a  baronet  in  the  county  of 
Durham.  The  Poet's  daughter,  Ada,  was  born  in  De- 
cember, 1815,  and,  in  the  following  month,  the  marriage 
ended  in  a  final  separation.  Denounced  by  public 
opinion,  Byron  left  England,  travelled  on  the  Rhine  and 
in  Switzerland,  and  then  went  to  reside  in  Venice.  There 
some  of  his  associations  were  such  as  were  called  de- 
plorable by  his  best  friends.  He  wrote  in  Venice  the 
greater  part  of  the  fourth  canto  in  "  The  Pilgrimage,"  his 
most  ideal  work  ;  but  there  also  he  began  to  write  verses 
of  the  burlesque  kind  for  which  the  Italian  author,  Berni, 
afforded  a  model.  From  the  debasement  of  his  Venetian 
life  Byron  was  led  away  to  Ravenna  and  to  Pisa,  and 
during  his  residence  at  these  places  (in  the  time  1820-3) 
his  mode  of  life  might  be  called  comparatively  quiet. 
For  the  greater  part  of  that  time  he  lived  with  the  young 
Countess  Guiccioli,  who  had  been  married  to  an  old  and 
wealthy  nobleman. 

In  the  summer  of  1823  Byron  went  to  Greece,  there 
to  close  his  life  by  some  brave  and  worthy  exploit  in  the 
war  of  independence.  In  January,  1824,  he  arrived  at 
Missolonghi,  an  unhealthy  place,  having  a  position  of 
great  importance  in  strategy.  Here  he  soon  found  him- 


BYRON.  177 

self  surrounded  by  men  wanting  union  and  subordination 
to  make  their  patriotic  fervour  useful.  He  entertained  a 
hope  that  a  first  success,  won  by  a  resolute  attack  on 
Lepanto,  might  serve  to  unite  their  forces,  scattered  here 
and  there,  and  waiting  for  a  leader.  He  was  ready  to 
take  the  post  of  danger,  and  to  lead  on  the  meditated 
attack  ;  but  hindrances  followed.  His  presence  inspired 
confidence,  and  his  conduct — like  that  of  a  practical  man 
— was  worthy  of  the  position  he  had  assumed.  The 
Poet  was  indeed  less  dreamy  than  some  of  his  associates. 
He  acted  with  firmness,  moderation,  and  foresight.  But 
his  hair  was  grey ;  he  was  in  fact  an  old  man  ;  his  friends 
observed  that  his  health — partly  ruined  by  extreme 
abstinence  in  his  diet — was  rapidly  failing.  He  rallied 
but  faintly,  after  some  attacks  of  rheumatism  and  fever, 
following  exposure  to  rain.  On  the  i8th  of  April  he 
became  insensible,  but  said,  in  the  evening,  "  I  must  sleep 
now."  On  the  following  day  he  died,  aged  thirty-seven 
years.  To  the  circumstances  attending  that  early  de- 
cease GOETHE  refers  in  some  pathetic  lines,  that  may  be 
thus  freely  rendered  : — 

"  Ah ! — so  soon  was  broken-hearted 

One  for  earthly  glory  born  ! 
Bloom  of  youth,  so  soon  departed, 

Left  him  lonely  and  forlorn. 
Then  at  last,  when  higher  thought 

Gave  to  him  a  purer  will, 
He  would  something  great  have  wrought — 

Never  could  that  hope  fulfil." 
A  A 


i;8  ENGLISH  POETS. 

The  embalmed  remains  of  Byron  were  brought  to 
England,  and  were  interred  in  the  village  church  of 
Hucknall-Torkard,  where  his  sister  placed  a  small  mural 
tablet  sacred  to  his  memory.  A  statue  in  marble,  com- 
pleted in  1835  by  Thorwaldsen,  was  in  1846  placed  in 
the  library  hall  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  That 
was  a  graceful  act,  for  Byron  had  not  always  spoken 
kindly  of  "Alma  Mater."  In  July,  1875,  Mr.  DISRAELI, 
as  president  of  a  meeting  held  in  London,  spoke  elo- 
quently in  favour  of  a  plan  for  erecting,  on  some  public 
site,  a  statue  of  Byron.  The  committee  appointed  to 
carry  out  the  design,  included  the  names  of  the  poets  : 
Tennyson,  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Lord  Houghton,  and 
Matthew  Arnold ;  also  the  names  of  Earl  Stanhope,  the 
Earl  of  Lovelace,  and  Archdeacon  Trollope. 

BYRON'S  writings  are  closely  associated  with  his  life ; 
especially  with  his  travels  and  his  several  places  of  resi- 
dence. The  earlier  poems  are  founded  partly  on  recol- 
lections of  his  boyhood  in  Scotland  ;  partly  on  memories 
of  friendships  cherished  at  Harrow,  Southwell,  and  Cam- 
bridge. To  the  time  when  the  Poet  was  first  idolised 
belong  the  "  Hebrew  Melodies,"  and  the  oriental  stories, 
the  "  Giaour,"  the  "  Bride  of  Abydos,"  the  "  Corsair," 
"  Lara,"  and  the  "  Siege  of  Corinth."  One  of  his  most 
beautiful  poems  is  the  "  Dream,"  founded  on  his  love  of 
Mary  Chaworth,  whose  destiny  was,  if  possible,  more 
deplorable  than  his  own.  The  third  canto  of  "  Childe 
Harold,"  the  drama  "  Manfred,"  and  the  "  Lament  of 


BYRON.  179 

Tasso"  recall  to  mind  the  time  when — expelled  from 
English  society — the  author  was  travelling  on  the  Rhine 
and  in  Switzerland.  During  the  years  1820-3,  when 
Byron  was  living  at  Ravenna  and  Pisa,  he  wrote  the 
greater  part  of  "  Don  Juan,"  the  "  Prophecy  of  Dante," 
and  the  dramas  "  Sardanapalus,"  the  "  Two  Foscari," 
"  Cain,"  "  Werner,"  and  "  The  Deformed  Transformed." 
In  the  last  year  of  his  life  Byron  wrote  the  poem  con- 
taining this  stanza : — 

"  Seek  out — less  often  sought  than  found — 
A  soldier's  grave,  for  thee  the  best ; 
Then  look  around,  and  choose  thy  ground, 
And  take  thy  rest." 

Of  all  qualities  ascribed  to  Byron,  his  eloquence,  or 
mastery  of  the  English  language,  is  the  most  obvious. 
Eloquence  gave  power  to  his  poetry,  and  made  formida- 
ble the  satires  and  the  burlesque  and  cynical  writings  of 
which  the  main  purport  is  nothing  better  than  negation. 
But  the  whole  extent  of  Byron's  influence  cannot  be 
fairly  ascribed  to  his  eloquence,  however  powerful  that 
might  be.  There  was  in  his  genius  a  deeper  source  of 
power.  The  general,  pervading  tone  of  his  writings  is — 
discontent.  This  word  is  here  used  descriptively,  and 
implies  neither  blame  nor  praise.  Stronger  words — such 
as  "negation,"  "rebellion,"  and  "despair" — have  been 
employed  by  able  critics  who  have  called  Byron  "  the 
poet  of  the  world's  sorrow  "  and  "  the  poet  of  despair." 
His  own  misery  made  his  song  accordant  with  feelings 


i So  ENGLISH   POETS. 

of  disappointment  and  discontent,  arising  from  many 
sources ;  especially  from  the  experience  attending  failures 
in  private  or  in  public  life.  He  lived  in  a  time  when 
defeat  and  retrogression  followed  all  the  political  enter- 
prise and  the  hopes  of  men  who  had  dreamed,  rather 
wildly,  of  a  glorious  future.  The  general  defeat  or  fiasco 
of  liberalism  was  felt  more  severely  on  the  continent 
than  in  England  ;  consequently,  Byron's  power  was  in 
some  respects  better  appreciated  in  France  and  Germany 
than  in  his  native  land.  Men  who  might  not  publish  in 
any  distinct  form  their  own  thoughts  of  freedom,  were 
glad  to  hear  clear  and  strong  revolutionary  tones  in 
Byron's  poetry.  Many  and  loud  were  the  echoes  awakened 
by  those  tones.  The  Poet's  voice  was  like  that  of  a  bold 
orator  who,  for  the  first  time,  utters  thoughts  that  many 
other  men  entertain  but  dare  not  express.  The  mental 
desolation  that  followed  the  bold  theories  called  "  philo- 
sophy" in  the  eighteenth  century;  the  failure  of  ex- 
travagant hopes  that  had  been  excited  by  the  Revolution ; 
the  dreary  retrogressive  policy  of  the  Restoration — these 
were  the  chief  antecedent  events  by  which  many  minds 
were  made  ready  to  hail  a  poet  whose  declamation  gave 
powerful  expression  to  their  own  sentiments.  His  rank 
and  personal  advantages  ;  the  mystery  and  controversy 
attending  his  own  character;  his  defiance  of  tradition 
and  authority ;  lastly,  his  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
national  freedom  in  Greece — these  attendant  circum- 
stances served  to  increase  his  influence,  but  its  deeper 


BYRON.  181 

source  was  a  sympathetic  discontent.  In  France,  Spain, 
and  Germany,  many  men  who  never  heard  the  name  of 
Wordsworth,  and  who  knew  little  more  than  the  name  of 
Milton,  read  with  enthusiastic  admiration  the  works  of 
Byron,  whom  they  hailed  as  the  greatest  poet  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  That  estimate  is  still  generally 
maintained  on  the  continent. 

In  England  his  poetry  was  admired,  but  his  scepticism 
excited  fear  and  opposition.  Other  writers  had  been 
more  resolutely  and  definitely  negative  in  their  treatment 
of  religion.  Byron  was  never  confirmed  in  unbelief,  but 
was  sceptical  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word.  For  him  the 
creed  of  his  native  land  was  a  problem,  affording  some 
exercise  to  his  inquiring  intellect,  but  giving  him  neither 
strength  nor  consolation.  For  the  creed  that  he  would 
not  or  could  not  accept  he  found  no  substitute.  He 
could  not  see  that  all  things  were  made  clear  by  natural 
theology,  and  he  had  no  confidence  in  any  teachings 
of  philosophy,  excepting  one  saying  : — 

"  All  that  we  know  is,  nothing  can  be  known." 

He  sometimes  assumed  the  mood  of  epicurean  indiffer- 
ence, but  found  in  it  no  rest.  The  playful  mockery  of 
some  poems  and  some  traits  in  the  Poet's  character  have 
led  an  able  critic  to  suppose  that  there  could  be  no  earnest- 
ness in  Byron's  expressions  of  disappointment,  grief,  and 
despair.  But  humour  and  melancholy  may  dwell  to- 
gether, and  pain  may  be  expressed  in  a  smile.  Contrasts 


182  ENGLISH  POETS. 

and  contradictions  abound  in  Byron's  life  as  in  his 
writings.  "  Childe  Harold  "  is  the  ideal  and  noble  ex- 
pression of  despair.  In  "  Don  Juan  "  despair,  associated 
with  wild,  lawless  humour,  leads  to  a  burlesque  and 
cynical  treatment  of  life  and  almost  all  that  belongs  to 
it.  For  such  negation  of  everything  save  sensuous  plea- 
sure there  is  no  defence.  GOETHE  said  that  students 
who  wished  to  make  themselves  masters  of  the  English 
language  should  translate  some  cantos  of  "  Don  Juan," 
but  should  take  care  never  to  allow  any  of  their  transla- 
tions to  be  published.  Goethe  was,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  neither  a  puritan  nor  a  severe  critic,  but  he  con- 
demned the  license  of  Byron's  humour. 

Byron's  want  of  respect  for  tradition  and  authority 
may  be  found  in  the  formal  characteristics  of  his  poems ; 
but  here  one  remarkable  exception  should  be  noticed. 
He  accepted  as  laws  of  dramatic  writing  the  so-called 
"  unities  of  space  and  time."  In  other  respects,  his  love 
of  freedom  asserted  itself  in  the  forms  as  well  as  in  the 
tendencies  of  his  works.  The  "Pilgrimage"  is  a  splendid 
imaginative  work,  but  it  is  hard  to  say  to  what  class  it 
belongs.  In  one  respect  it  is  like  the  versatile  and  mock- 
ing poem  "  Don  Juan."  Either  one  or  the  other  of  these 
poems  might  almost  anywhere  be  brought  to  a  close. 
The  construction  of  the  dramas  is  regular,  but  they  want 
dramatic  life.  Nevertheless  they  contain  some  most 
eloquent  and  powerful  passages.  Of  these  the  closing 
speech  in  "  Marino  Faliero  "  may  be  called  a  terrible  ex- 


BYRON.  183 

ample.  Among  the  other  dramas,  "  Werner"  was  mostly 
borrowed,  as  the  Poet  fully  acknowledged.  "  Sardana- 
palus  "  displays  something  like  growth  and  evolution  in 
the  hero's  character.  In  the  "  Two  Foscari,"  as  in  some 
other  plays,  dramatic  forms  are  imposed  on  poetry  that 
should  be  called  lyrical  or  reflective,  and  dialogue  is  em- 
ployed where  soliloquy  might  serve  as  well.  Many 
speeches  are  introduced  that  have  no  connection  with  the 
evolution  of  any  character,  or  the  progress  of  any  action. 
Byron's  best  poetical  works  are  lyrical.  When  he  said 
of  himself,  " description  is  my  forte"  there  was  some 
truth  in  it ;  but  he  was  not  a  good  critic.  He  was  hardly 
conscious  of  the  source  whence  he  derived  his  strength. 
His  best  passages  may  be  called  lyrical,  graphic,  and  re- 
flective. In  these  are  found  "  thoughts  that  breathe  and 
words  that  burn."  He  makes  surrounding  landscapes 
reflect  his  own  thoughts  ;  or  finds  in  external  calm  and 
storm,  in  gentle  and  in  violent  transitions,  expressions  of 
his  own  sentiments.  Few  passages  in  his  poetry  are 
more  pleasing  than  those  in  which  he  now  and  then 
almost  forgets  himself,  and  finds  repose  in  solitude  where 
he  is  not  alone.  He  was  sometimes  unconsciously  in- 
debted to  "  Nature's  Priest  " — Wordsworth  ;  but  imita- 
tion does  not  produce  such  stanzas  as  these : — 

"  To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell, 
To  slowly  trace  the  forest's  shady  scene, 
Where  things  that  own  not  man's  dominion  dwell, 
And  mortal  foot  hath  ne'er  or  rarely  been ; 


1 84  ENGLISH   POETS. 

To  climb  the  trackless  mountain  all  unseen, 
With  the  wild  flock  that  never  needs  a  fold  ; 
Alone  o'er  steeps  and  foaming  falls  to  lean ; 
This  is  not  solitude ;  'tis  but  to  hold 
Converse  with  Nature's  charms,  and  view  her  stores  unroll'd. 

"  But  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men, 
To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel,  and  to  possess, 
And  roam  along,  the  world's  tired  denizen, 
With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless ; 
Minions  of  splendour  shrinking  from  distress  ! 
None  that,  with  kindred  consciousness  endued, 
If  we  were  not,  would  seem  to  smile  the  less 
Of  all  that  flatter'd,  follow'd,  sought,  and  sued ; 
This  is  to  be  alone ;  this,  this  is  solitude ! " 

Critics  have  with  good  reason  used  the  word  "mono- 
tony "  when  speaking  of  the  too-frequent  presentation  of 
the  Poet's  real  or — as  some  writers  say — his  assumed 
character.  "  He  was  himself,"  as  Lord  Macaulay  says, 
with  some  exaggeration,  "  the  beginning,  the  middle,  and 
the  end  of  all  his  own  poetry — the  hero  of  every  tale — the 
chief  object  in  every  landscape.  Harold,  Lara,  Manfred, 
and  a  crowd  of  other  characters,  were  universally  con- 
sidered merely  as  loose  incognitos  of  Byron  ;  and  there 
is  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  meant  them  to  be  so 
considered.  The  wonders  of  the  outer  world — the  Tagus, 
with  the  mighty  fleets  of  England  riding  on  its  bosom — 
the  towers  of  Cintra  overhanging  the  shaggy  forests  of 
cork-trees  and  willows — the  glaring  marble  of  Pentelicus 
— the  banks  of  the  Rhine — the  glaciers  of  Clarens — the 
sweet  lake  of  Leman — the  dell  of  Egeria,  with  its  sum- 


SYR  ON.  185 

mer  birds  and  rustling  lizards — the  shapeless  ruins  of 
Rome  overgrown  with  ivy  and  wall-flowers — the  stars, 
the  sea,  the  mountains — all  were  mere  accessories — the 
background  to  one  dark  and  melancholy  figure."  The 
fault  here  reproved — monotony  or  self-repetition — can 
hardly  be  treated  too  severely.  But  it  does  not  spoil 
the  landscapes  of  "  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage."  Here 
there  is  no  want  of  contrast  and  variety,  of  which  the 
two  following  passages  are  fine  examples  : — 

"  It  is  the  hush  of  night,  and  all  between 
Thy  margin  and  the  mountains,  dusk,  yet  clear, 
Mellow'd  and  mingling,  yet  distinctly  seen, 
Save  darken'd  Jura,  whose  capt  heights  appear 
Precipitously  steep ;  and  drawing  near, 
There  breathes  a  living  fragrance  from  the  shore, 
Of  flowers  yet  fresh  with  childhood ;  on  the  ear 
Drops  the  light  drip  of  the  suspended  oar, 
Or  chirps  the  grasshopper  one  good-night  carol  more  ; 

"  He  is  an  evening  reveller,  who  makes 
His  life  an  infancy,  and  sings  his  fill ; 
At  intervals,  some  bird  from  out  the  brakes 
Starts  into  voice  a  moment,  then  is  still. 
There  seems  a  floating  whisper  on  the  hill, 
But  that  is  fancy,  for  the  starlight  dews 
All  silently  their  tears  of  love  instil, 
Weeping  themselves  away,  till  they  infuse 
Deep  into  Nature's  breast  the  spirit  of  her  hues. 

"  All  heaven  and  earth  are  still — though  not  in  sleep, 
But  breathless,  as  we  grow  when  feeling  most ; 
And  silent,  as  we  stand  in  thoughts  too  deep : 
All  heaven  and  earth  are  still : — From  the  high  host 
B  B 


1 86  ENGLISH  POETS. 

Of  stars,  to  the  lull'd  lake  and  mountain-coast, 
All  is  concentred  in  a  life  intense, 
Where  not  a  beam,  nor  air,  nor  leaf  is  lost, 
But  hath  a  part  of  being,  and  a  sense 
Of  that  which  is  of  all  Creator  and  defence. 

*  *  * 

"  The  sky  is  changed — and  such  a  change !     Oh  night, 
And  storm,  and  darkness,  ye  are  wondrous  strong, 
Yet  lovely  in  your  strength,  as  is  the  light 
Of  a  dark  eye  in  woman !     Far  along, 
From  peak  to  peak,  the  rattling  crags  among 
Leaps  the  live  thunder !     Not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Jura  answers,  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  the  joyous  Alps,  who  call  to  her  aloud ! 

"  And  this  is  in  the  night :— Most  glorious  night ! 
Thou  wert  not  sent  for  slumber !  let  me  be 
A  sharer  in  thy  fierce  and  far  delight, 
A  portion  of  the  tempest  and  of  thee  ! 
How  the  lit  lake  shines,  a  phosphoric  sea, 
And  the  big  rain  comes  dancing  to  the  earth ! 
And  now  again  'tis  black, — and  now,  the  glee 
Of  the  loud  hills  shakes  with  its  mountain  mirth, 
As  if  they  did  rejoice  o'er  a  young  earthquake's  birth." 

Of  the  Poet's  most  energetic  style  of  writing — in  pas- 
sages where  noble  sentiments  are  united  with  graphic 
power  and  fervid  eloquence — his  stanzas  on  "  Waterloo  " 
afford  one  fine  example,  and  another  may  be  given  in 
the  following  lines  :— 

"  I  see  before  me  the  Gladiator  lie  : 
He  leans  upon  his  hand — his  manly  brow 
Consents  to  death,  but  conquers  agony, 
And  his  droop'd  head  sinks  gradually  low — 


BYRON.  187 

And  through  his  side  the  last  drops,  ebbing  slow 
From  the  red  gash,  fall  heavy,  one  by  one, 
Like  the  first  of  a  thunder-shower ;  and  now 
The  arena  swims  around  him— he  is  gone, 
Ere  ceased  the  inhuman  shout  which  hail'd  the  wretch  who  won. 

"  He  heard  it,  but  he  heeded  not — his  eyes 
Were  with  his  heart,  and  that  was  far  away ; 
He  reck'd  not  of  the  life  he  lost  nor  prize, 
But  where  his  rude  hut  by  the  Danube  lay, 
There  were  his  young  barbarians  all  at  play, 
There  was  their  Dacian  mother — he,  their  sire, 
Butcher'd  to  make  a  Roman  holiday ! — 
All  this  rush'd  with  his  blood— Shall  he  expire 
And  unaveng'd  ? — Arise,  ye  Goths,  and  glut  your  ire ! " 

These  quotations  may  serve  as  some  examples  of  the 
poetic  power  that  gave  life  to  marbles,  and  breathed,  over 
classic  places  in  Greece  and  Italy,  a  spell  like  that  cast 
by  the  enchanter  Scott  over  some  districts  in  his  native 
land.  Of  Byron's  eloquence  the  more  fervid  and  ener- 
getic expressions  are  found  mostly  in  the  monologues  of 
"  Childe  Harold,"  which,  from  an  aesthetic  point  of  view, 
may  be  justly  censured  as  intensely  subjective.  One, 
given  near  the  close  of  the  "  Pilgrimage,"  may  be  com- 
pared with  the  final  and  terrible  invective,  or  curse,  pro- 
nounced by  Faliero  in  the  drama  bearing  his  name.  The 
passage  in  "  Childe  Harold "  ends  with  the  following 
stanza  :— 

"  But  I  have  lived,  and  have  not  lived  in  vain: 
My  mind  may  lose  its  force,  my  blood  its  fire, 
And  my  frame  perish  even  in  conquering  pain ; 
But  there  is  that  within  me  which  shall  tire 


1 88  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Torture  and  Time,  and  breathe  when  I  expire  ; 
Something  unearthly,  which  they  deem  not  of, 
Like  the  remember'd  tone  of  a  mute  lyre, 
Shall  on  their  soften'd  spirits  sink,  and  move 
In  hearts  all  rocky  now  the  late  remorse  of  love." 

The  Poet's  versification  displays  a  marvellous  energy, 
but  it  is  often  careless  and  sometimes  harsh— especially 
in  his  dramas.  He  could,  however,  when  he  would  take 
pains,  write  fine  lyrical  strains ;  now  falling  in  gentle 
cadences,  now  rising  to  a  climax  of  energetic  expression, 
as  in  these  stanzas  taken  from  one  of  the  "  Hebrew 
Melodies : " — 

"  The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold ; 
And  the  sheen  of  their  spears  was  like  stars  on  the  sea, 
When  the  blue  wave  rolls  nightly  on  deep  Galilee. 

"  Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  summer  is  green, 
That  host  with  their  banners  at  sunset  were  seen : 
Like  the  leaves  of  the  forest  when  autumn  hath  blown, 
That  host  on  the  morrow  lay  wither' d  and  strown. 

"  For  the  Angel  of  Death  spread  his  wings  on  the  blast, 
And  breathed  in  the  face  of  the  foe  as  he  pass'd  ; 
And  the  eyes  of  the  sleepers  wax'd  deadly  and  chill, 
And  their  hearts  but  once  heaved,  and  for  ever  grew  still ! 

"  And  there  lay  the  steed  with  his  nostrils  all  wide, 
But  through  it  there  roll'd  not  the  breath  of  his  pride  : 
And  the  foam  of  his  gasping  lay  white  on  the  turf, 
And  cold  as  the  spray  of  the  rock -beating  surf. 

"  And  there  lay  the  rider  distorted  and  pale, 

With  the  dew  on  his  brow  and  the  rust  on  his  mail ; 


BYRON.  189 

And  the  tents  were  all  silent,  the  banners  alone, 
The  lances  unlifted,  the  trumpet  unblown. 

"  And  the  widows  of  Ashur  are  loud  in  their  wail, 
And  the  idols  are  broke  in  the  temple  of  Baal ; 
And  the  might  of  the  Gentile,  unsmote  by  the  sword, 
Hath  melted  like  snow  in  the  glance  of  the  Lord !  " 

In  his  poetry,  as  in  his  life,  Byron  was  mostly  driven 
along  by  impulses.  He  did  not  possess  his  own  genius, 
but  was  possessed  by  it.  His  facility  in  producing  verse 
was  like  that  enjoyed  by  an  Improvisatore.  Hardly  any 
of  his  works  cost  him  hard  study,  save  his  first  satire  and 
the  third  act  of  Manfred.  Many  of  his  poems  were  pro- 
duced by  excitements  derived  from  visits  to  certain 
localities.  The  notion  that  some  places  are  favourably 
haunted,  and  breathe  poetic  inspiration,  is  here  and  there 
expressed  by  the  Poet.  His  lines  have  something  of 
Petrarch's  own  sweetness  when  they  describe  the  village 
where  the  great  Italian  lived  : — 


—  the  soft  quiet  hamlet  where  he  dwelt 
Is  one  of  that  complexion  which  seems  made 
For  those  who  their  mortality  have  felt, 
And  sought  a  refuge  from  their  hopes  deca/d 
In  the  deep  umbrage  of  a  green  hill's  shade, 
Which  shows  a  distant  prospect  far  away 
Of  busy  cities,  now  in  vain  displa/d, 
For  they  can  lure  no  further ;  and  the  ray 
Of  a  bright  sun  can  make  sufficient  holiday." 

If  all  the  cynicism,  the  scepticism  and  the  despair  were 
left  out,  and  nothing  save  the  poetry  of  Byron  remained, 


190  ENGLISH  POETS. 

his  writings  would  still  be  original  and  attractive.  Me- 
moirs of  the  Poet's  life  and  reviews  of  his  works  are  in- 
numerable. Among  the  former  are  found  several  that 
contradict  one  another,  in  instances  too  many  to  be 
noticed  particularly.  One  writer  describes  Byron's  lame- 
ness in  terms  making  it  clear  that  he  could  not  for  a 
moment  stand  firmly.  But  it  is  again  and  again  asserted 
by  other  witnesses,  that  he  was  fairly  proficient  in  box- 
ing. That  exercise  requires  firm  foothold  as  the  sine 
qua  11011.  This  is  a  comparatively  harmless  little  speci- 
men of  contradiction. 

Of  all  the  "  curiosities  of  literature  "  that  may  be  dis- 
covered in  reviews  of  Byron,  the  climax  is  the  asser- 
tion that,  after  all,  his  first  reviewer  was  right — Byron 
was  not  an  original  poet.  This  is  merely  laughable ;  but 
we  may  take  the  trouble  of  setting  against  it  the  judg- 
ment of  a  man  who  certainly  had  some  knowledge  of 
poetry.  GOETHE  described  Byron's  genius  as  original  in 
the  superlative  degree. 


SHELLEY. 

ERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY,  son  of  Sir 
Timothy  Shelley,  was  born  at  Field  Place 
(in  Sussex)  on  the  4th  of. August,  1792 — the 
year  when  revolution  was  victorious  in  France. 
"  There  is  not  one  of  Shelley's  works,"  says  a  French 
critic,  "  that  does  not  bear  the  stamp  of  1792."  This  as- 
sertion, though  obviously  wanting  limitation,  is  mainly 
true,  especially  with  reference  to  the  Poet's  more  ex- 
tended works.  He  began  to  write  verses  not  long  after 
the  time  when  hope,  excited  by  the  revplution,  "had 
failed,"  as  he  said, 

"  Like  a  brief  dream  of  unremaining  glory." 

Before  he  attained  majority  Shelley  read  extensively, 
and  studied  hard  social  and  political  problems,  of  which 
he  found  a  general  solution  in  his  belief  that  all  miseries 
of  society  must  be  ascribed  to  two  causes — superstition 


192  ENGLISH   POETS. 

and  despotism.  These  evils,  he  believed,  must  be  first 
destroyed  ;  then  dreams  of  Paradise  would  be  realized, 
and  universal  benevolence  would  make  the  world  happy. 
Holding  this  belief,  Shelley,  when  he  was  about  eighteen 
years  old,  denounced  as  a  superstition  the  creed  of  his 
native  land.  For  this  declaration  of  his  opinions,  he  was 
expelled  from  the  University  of  Oxford.  The  notion 
that  he  was  led  onward  in  negation  by  a  fellow-collegian 
of  inferior  ability,  is  refuted  by  references  to  Shelley's 
early  attempts  in  authorship.  His  "  Wandering  Jew  " 
(a  poem)  was  sent  to  the  publishers  Ballantyne  in  1810, 
and  was  declined,  with  an  intimation  that  some  parts  of 
it  might  be  called  sceptical.  Suspicion  of  the  same  kind 
was  excited  by  "St.  Irvyne,"  a  romance,  containing  some 
inferior  pieces  of  verse  and  unconscious  imitations  of 
lines  found  in  Byron's  "  Hours  of  Idleness."  A  rhapsody 
in  verse — "  Queen  Mab" — was  printed  for  the  author  in 
1813,  and  was  reprinted  and  published,  without  his  con- 
sent, in  1821.  This  work  by  no  means  deserves  the 
honour  of  being  placed  first — as  we  find  it  in  several  edi- 
tions of  the  Poet's  writings — but  its  conclusion  gives,  in 
a  few  lines,  the  central  idea  of  his  later  and  better  poetry. 
Let  superstition  and  tyranny  be  abolished,  and  let  bene- 
volence be  made  a  universal  law;  then  disease,  ignor- 
ance, crime,  warfare,  and  sorrow,  will  for  ever  disappear. 
The  originality  of  Shelley's  genius  was  more  clearly 
shown  in  1815,  when  his  poem,  "  Alastor,"  was  written. 
The  "Wanderer"  introduced  in  this  poem  is  an  imagina- 


SHELLE  Y.  193 

tive  youth,  seduced  by  visions  of  ideal  beauty,  led  far 
away  from  society,  and  left  to  die  in  desolation.  Love 
of  solitude,  attended  with  a  longing  for  sympathy  and  a 
thirst  for  discovery,  are  traits  ascribed  to  the  Wanderer 
in  "  Alastor,"  and  are  found  in  the  writer's  own  cha- 
racter. A  more  remarkable  trait  is  the  often-recurring 
thought  of  strife,  duality,  or  contradiction,  which  is  repre- 
sented in  one  poem  by  the  battle  of  the  "  Serpent "  and 
the  "  Eagle  ;"  in  another  by  the  contest  of  "  Prome- 
theus "  and  "  Jove."  That  thought  of  antipathy  seems 
to  have  been  closely  associated  with  memories  of  some 
painful  passages  in  Shelley's  early  life — his  experience 
at  Eton,  his  expulsion  from  college,  and  some  later  sor- 
rows. When  nineteen  years  old  he  was  attracted  by  the 
beauty  of  Harriet  Westbrook,  whose  age  was  sixteen. 
Soon  after  their  marriage  the  young  pair  visited  the 
English  lake  district,  and  they  lived  for  some  time  in 
Wales.  A  virtual  dissolution  of  their  marriage  had  taken 
place  in  1814  (when  they  had  two  children),  and  separa- 
tion was  followed  by  a  deplorable  event,  of  which  we 
have  no  full  and  clear  account.  The  young  wife  drowned 
herself.  Afterwards,  it  was  decreed  in  Chancery  that 
Shelley  should  not  have  the  guardianship  of  his  own 
children.  His  sentiments,  expressed  in  "Queen  Mab," 
were  made  the  basis  of  that  decree,  by  which  his  mind 
was  deeply  affected.  At  the  close  of  the  year  1816  he 
married  Mary  Godwin  (daughter  of  the  well-known 
writer),  and  went  to  live  at  Marlow,  where  his  days  were 
c  c 


194  ENGLISH  POETS. 

quietly  devoted  to  study  and  to  benevolent  care  for  the 
welfare  of  his  poor  neighbours.  He  wrote,  while  he  was 
living  at  Marlow,  a  narrative  poem,  "  The  Revolt  of 
Islam,"  in  which  he  spoke  everywhere  of  love  or  benevo- 
lence "  as  the  sole  law  which  should  govern  the  moral 
world." 

In  the  spring  of  1818  Shelley,  accompanied  by  his 
wife,  went  to  Italy,  and  stayed  some  time  in  Venice, 
where  he  met  once  more  Lord  Byron,  with  whom  he  had 
previously  travelled  in  Switzerland.  At  Rome,  where 
the  climate  seemed  to  make  his  imagination  more  vigor- 
ous, he  wrote  his  lyrical-dramatic  poem,  "  Prometheus 
Unbound."  This  enthusiastic  production  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  "  The  Cenci,"  a  tragedy  founded  on  a  dreadful 
series  of  crimes.  In  writing  this  drama  "  the  author," 
says  a  critic,  "  coerced  and  restrained  the  characteristic 
qualities  of  his  own  genius."  Shelley's  intercourse  with 
Byron  was  renewed  at  Pisa,  where  they  lived  near  each 
other  in  1821.  There  was  no  literary  man— except,  per- 
haps, Sir  Walter  Scott — whose  character  Byron  respected 
more  than  Shelley's  ;  but  the  two  Poets  differed  widely 
on  some  questions  of  taste  and  criticism.  Byron  called 
Shelley's  notions  of  poetry  and  of  philosophy  "too  spiri- 
tual and  romantic,"  and  was  slow  in  recognizing  the 
merits  of  Keats,  a  young  poet  whose  writings  gave  de- 
light to  Shelley.  His  anger  was  like  that  provoked  by  a 
personal  insult  when  "  Endymion,"  a  poem  written  by 
Keats,  was  contemptuously  treated  by  a  reviewer.  Be- 


SHELLE  Y.  195 

fore  the  review  appeared,  the  health  of  Keats  was  rapidly 
declining,  and  soon  afterwards  his  death  awakened  in 
Shelley's  mind  the  sympathy  and  indignation  so  finely 
expressed  in  the  splendid  elegy,  "Adonais." 

Shelley's  general  mode  of  life  at  Pisa  was  quiet  and 
studious.  Those  who  had  no  respect  for  some  of  his 
opinions  were  compelled  to  admire  his  temperate  habits, 
gentle  manners,  and  generous  disposition.  In  the  sum- 
mer of  1822  he  went  to  live  at  a  villa  near  the  sea-coast, 
where  he  might  enjoy  his  favourite  amusement,  boating 
and  sailing  ;  for  he  was  a  lover  of  the  sea.  He  returned 
to  Pisa,  and  passed  a  few  days  there  and  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood in  July,  and  then  set  sail  at  Livorno,  intending 
to  take  a  direct  course  homeward.  His  companions  in 
the  boat  were  his  friend  Williams  and  one  sailor.  The 
sea  was  quiet  when  their  sail  vanished  on  the  horizon- 
line,  but  a  violent  storm  soon  followed,  the  boat  went 
down,  and  the  three  voyagers  were  drowned.  A  few 
days  later  Shelley's  body  was  cast  by  the  sea  on  the 
shore,  and  was  readily  identified  ;  for  he  had  carried 
in  one  of  his  pockets  a  volume  of  poetry  containing 
"Lamia"  and  "Isabella."  His  remains — reduced  to 
ashes  by  fire — were  taken  to  Rome,  and  were  there 
interred  in  the  cemetery  which  he  had  described  as 
"  romantic  and  lonely." 

The  character  of  Shelley  is  expressed  in  his  poetry, 
taken  as  a  whole  confession  and  generously  interpreted. 
Some  traits  may  be  seen  more  clearly  if  we  cast  on  them 


196  ENGLISH  POETS. 

the  light  of  contrast.  For  a  moment  the  Poet,  whose 
sympathies  were  so  wide,  may  be  placed  in  contrast  be- 
side one  of  the  small  versifiers,  sometimes  called  "  poets," 
in  Addison's  time.  The  versifier  takes  some  pains  to 
make  his  lines  rhyme,  but  cares  little  for  politics  or  for 
any  other  practical  affairs.  Opposite  to  him  lives  a 
politician  who  talks  of  "  balancing  the  powers  of  Europe." 
He  has  heard  that  Mr.  Addison's  play,  "  Cato,"  is  called 
"  patriotic,"  and  there  ends  the  politician's  knowledge  of 
poetical  literature.  His  neighbour — a  practical  man — 
never  thinks  of  poetry  and  cares  little  for  politics.  But 
he  admires  Sir  Richard  Steele's  new  scheme,  called  "The 
Fishpool :  "  a  plan  for  supplying  London  with  cheap  and 
fresh  salmon.  These  three  men  represent  some  classes 
of  specialists,  and  all  three  stand  apart  from  that  class  of 
men  to  which  Shelley  belonged.  His  views,  like  his 
sympathies,  were  comprehensive.  He  was  at  once  a 
poet,  a  politician,  and  a  social  reformer.  "  I  have,"  he 
said,  "  a  passion  for  reforming  the  world."  This  was  the 
motive  that  led  him  to  study  some  abstruse  subjects,  and 
to  accept  social  and  other  theories  that,  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  were  called  luminous. 

Shelley,  at  one  time,  intended  to  give  to  the  world  his 
own  theory  of  society  in  the  shape  of  a  systematic  trea- 
tise, but  it  was  never  written.  We  find,  however,  its 
leading  ideas  in  his  poetical  works.  Of  these  ideas  or 
general  notions,  several  are  remarkably  like  those  set 
forth  in  old  books  called  mystical.  Shelley's  poetry 


SHELLEY.  ,97 

speaks  of  a  primeval  and  happy  state  of  union,  of  a  pro- 
cess of  deterioration,  and  of  a  final  restoration  of  union. 
An  old  mystic  writer,  treating  of  the  same  themes,  some- 
times uses  forms  of  expression  like  those  which  the  Poet 
employs.  Shelley  speaks  of  mental,  moral,  and  physical 
life  as  three  expressions  of  one  power,  and  the  old  mystic 
here  again  agrees  well  with  the  Poet.  Once  more  they 
are  in  concord  when  they  describe  our  thoughts,  our  feel- 
ings, and  our  whole  life  as  closely  united  with  the  uni- 
versal life  of  nature.  When  man  was  good,  the  world 
was  a  glorious  home  (says  the  mystic)  ;  the  dwelling- 
place  in  every  part  reflected  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
the  inhabitant,  and  his  own  soul  was  the  inspiring  genius 
of  every  beautiful  surrounding  landscape.  When  he  be- 
came degenerate,  nature  everywhere  suffered  a  disastrous 
change.  The  desolation  of  his  own  soul  was  represented 
"  in  stony  and  sandy  deserts  ;"  his  bad  passions — "  pride, 
greed,  envy,  hate" — were  akin  to  the  fierce  extremes  of 
heat  and  cold,  the  fury  of  tempests,  and  the  destructive 
forces  of  earthquake  and  lightning,  by  which  the  primeval 
and  peaceful  life  of  nature  was  disturbed.  But  when 
man  shall  once  more  become  good,  there  will  be  de- 
veloped a  new  world,  of  which  all  the  elements  shall  be 
harmoniously  blended.  Cleanse  man's  heart  (says  the 
old  mystic),  and  from  that  fountain  shall  flow  forth  in- 
fluence that  shall  pervade  and  transmute,  not  human 
society  alone,  but  the  whole  life  of  nature — 
*'  The  human  Soul  of  universal  earth." 


198  ENGLISH  POETS. 

In  "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  we  shall  see  how  Shelley 
can  clothe  these  ideas  and  make  poetry  of  them.  But 
the  difference  of  the  two  theories,  that  so  far  have  looked 
like  one  theory,  must  not  be  left  unnoticed.  Both  the 
mystic  and  the  Poet  have  spoken  boldly  of  a  future  reno- 
vation of  "man  and  his  dwelling-place."  The  question 
naturally  follows — by  what  agency  can  such  a  change  be 
made  ?  In  their  answers  to  that  question  they  differ 
widely,  and  all  their  concord  here  comes  to  a  conclusion. 
The  old  writer  finds  help  in  a  faith  which  was  in  early 
life  rejected  by  the  Poet.  The  books  that  then  served 
mostly  as  his  guides  and  teachers  led  him  to  identify 
with  that  faith  all  the  errors  and  the  vices  that  had  ever 
been  associated  with  its  name  or  its  profession.  Bigotry 
and  persecution  (he  said)  have  ever  been  connected  with 
that  creed ;  therefore  it  must  be  "  hostile,  instead  of 
friendly,  to  the  cultivation  of  those  virtues  which  would 
make  men  brothers."  Such  reasoning  is  obviously  illogi- 
cal, and  it  does  not  accord  with  the  writer's  own  treat- 
ment of  a  similar  case.  For  he  does  not  abandon  his 
belief  in  such  principles  as  "  equality  "  and  "  fraternity  " 
on  account  of  any  crimes  or  excesses  associated  with  the 
words.  On  the  contrary,  he  speaks  of  these  matters 
with  clear  discrimination  when  he  tells  us  that,  in  his 
advocacy  of  social  reformation,  he  refuses  to  flatter 
"  those  violent  and  malignant  passions  of  our  nature 
which  are  ever  on  the  watch  to  mingle  with  and  to  alloy 
the  most  beneficial  innovations."  Of  the  wisdom  implied 


SHELLEY.  199 

in  these  words  there  can  be  no  dispute.  They  may 
serve  to  conclude  our  remarks  on  Shelley's  theories, 
which  are  too  closely  united  with  his  poetry  to  be  left 
without  notice,  even  in  this  brief  review  of  his  writings. 
In  passing  to  give  some  account  of  his  poetical  works,  it 
may  be  well  to  advert  to  numerous  errors  in  several 
editions  of  his  poems.  In  some  instances,  the  misprints 
and  other  errors  are  almost  as  bad  as  those  found  in 
some  editions  of  Coleridge's  poetry. 

Shelley's  burlesque,  satirical,  and  political  writings  in 
verse  may  here  be  left  unnoticed.  His  more  ideal  poems 
reveal  his  own  true  character.  The  vague,  dreamy  en- 
thusiasm, and  the  visionary  hopes  of  his  youth  are  ex- 
pressed in  the  conclusion  of  his  first  considerable  poem, 
but  are  represented  with  greater  power  and  self-control 
in  "  Prometheus  Unbound."  He  wrote  one  long  narra- 
tive poem,  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam,"  of  which  the  form — 
but  little  more  than  the  form — is  epic.  He  wrote  also 
one  tragedy,  which,  with  regard  to  construction  and 
pathos,  is  as  remarkable  as  the  author's  choice  of  a  sub- 
ject. The  play  is  written  in  clear,  undecorated  English, 
and  contains  hardly  more  than  one  isolated  description. 
As  a  specimen  of  power  and  artistic  self-control,  "  The 
Cenci  "  is  certainly  the  author's  best  work  ;  yet  we  have 
pleasure  in  turning  away  from  it,  to  study  his  lyrical 
poetry.  Beauties  of  sentiment  and  imagination  abound 
in  the  elegy  "  Adonais,"  of  which  excessive  splendour  is 
the  chief  defect.  Here  and  there  are  heard,  as  in  the 


200  ENGLISH   POETS. 

following  stanzas,  imaginative  expressions  of  a  mystic 
belief  rather  vaguely  called  "  pantheism  :" — 

"  He  lives,  he  wakes — 'tis  Death  is  dead,  not  he ; 
Mourn  not  for  Adonais. — Thou,  young  Dawn, 
Turn  all  thy  dew  to  splendour,  for  from  thee 
The  spirit  thou  lamentest  is  not  gone  ; 
Ye  caverns  and  ye  forests,  cease  to  moan ! 
Cease  ye  faint  flowers  and  fountains,  and  thou  Air, 
Which  like  a  mourning  veil  thy  scarf  hadst  thrown 
O'er  the  abandoned  Earth,  now  leave  it  bare 
Even  to  the  joyous  stars  which  smile  on  its  despair. 

"  He  is  made  one  with  Nature  :  there  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 
Of  thunder,  to  the  song  of  night's  sweet  bird ; 
He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone, 
Spreading  itself  where'er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  his  being  to  its  own ; 
Which  wields  the  world  with  never-wearied  love, 
Sustains  it  from  beneath,  and  kindles  it  above." 

The  thought  of  duality  and  antipathy — of  the  long 
strife  of  good  and  evil  in  the  world — is  found  almost 
everywhere,  says  a  critic,  when  describing  the  general 
character  of  Shelley's  writings.  But  the  Poet  could 
sometimes  forget  all  social  problems,  and  (as  his  wife 
said)  "could  for  awhile  shelter  himself  from  the  influence 
of  human  sympathies,"  while  his  imagination  enjoyed 
free  play  in  intercourse  with  nature.  There  can  hardly 
be  found  more  than  one  expression  of  a  melancholy  kind 


SHELLEY.  201 

in  the  ode  "  To  a  Skylark,"  in  which  fine  melody  is  sus- 
tained throughout  twenty-one  stanzas  like  the  follow- 
ing : — 

"  Better  than  all  measures 

Of  delightful  sound, 
Better  than  all  treasures 

That  in  books  are  found, 
Thy  skill  to  poet  were,  thou  scorner  of  the  ground  ! 

"  Teach  me  half  the  gladness 

That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 

From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now." 

Continuous  and  perfect  melody,  like  that  of  Coleridge's 
finest  poems,  is  hardly  found  in  Shelley's  ;  but  here  and 
there  are  strains  recalling  such  music  as  is  heard  in 
"  Christabel."  For  one  example  we  may  notice  "  Lines 
to  an  Indian  Air,"  and  for  another,  these  lines  in  the 
"  Hymn  of  Pan  :" — 

"  Liquid  Peneus  was  flowing, 
And  all  dark  Tempe  lay 
In  Pelion's  shadow,  outgrowing 
The  light  of  the  dying  day, 

Speeded  by  my  sweet  pipings. 
The  Sileni,  and  Sylvans,  and  Fauns, 

And  the  Nymphs  of  the  woods  and  waves, 
To  the  edge  of  the  moist  river-lawns, 

And  the  brink  of  the  dewy  caves, 
And  all  that  did  then  attend  and  follow 
Were  silent  with  love,  as  you  now,  Apollo, 
With  envy  of  my  sweet  pipings." 

The  most  characteristic  of  all  the  Poet's  writings  is  the 
D  D 


202  ENGLISH   POETS. 

lyric-dramatic  poem,  "  Prometheus  Unbound,"  a  splendid 
mythological  form  of  expression,  for  the  theory  of  which 
outlines  have  already  been  given.  As  an  able  critic  has 
observed,  Shelley  in  this  poem  gives  to  abstract  thoughts 
vivid,  imaginative  forms,  and  "  makes  individuals  out  of 
generalities."  Primeval  life  is  here  called  the  Reign  of 
"  Saturn,"  under  whose  sway  the  lives  of  all  "  earth's 
primal  spirits  "  are  calm  and  happy.  Their  deterioration 
takes  place  under  the  despotism  of  "  Jupiter,"  of  whom 
the  Poet  speaks  exactly  as  the  old  mystic  speaks  of 
"  Lucifer  :"— 

"  And  Jove  now  reign'd ;  for  on  the  race  of  man 
First  famine,  and  then  toil,  and  then  disease, 
Strife,  wounds,  and  ghastly  death,  unseen  before, 
Fell ;  and  the  unseasonable  seasons  drove, 
With  alternating  shafts  of  frost  and  fire, 
Their  shelterless  pale  tribes  to  mountain  caves ; 
And  in  their  desert  hearts  fierce  wants  he  sent 
And  mad  disquietudes,  and  shadows  idle 
Of  unreal  good." 

The  restoration  of  mankind  and  all  other  creatures  to 
their  primeval  life  is  ascribed  to  the  Titan  named  Pro- 
metheus, a  representative  of  "wisdom,  courage,  and 
long-suffering  love."  Under  the  cruel  reign  of  Jupiter 
the  benevolent  and  powerful  Titan  alleviates  the  suffer- 
ings of  mankind.  For  this  offence  he  is  chained  on 
Caucasus,  and  there,  with  undaunted  fortitude,  he  sus- 
tains a  long  series  of  tortures,  of  which  one  part  is  the 
knowledge  he  has  of  all  miseries  endured  by  men.  Of  a 


SHELLEY.  203 

terrible  curse  extorted  from  him  by  his  sufferings,  and 
hurled  against  his  oppressor,  Prometheus  at  length  re- 
pents, as  he  tells  us  in  these  lines : — 

"  It  doth  repent  me  :  words  are  quick  and  vain ; 
Grief  for  awhile  is  blind,  and  so  was  mine. 
I  wish  no  living  thing  to  suffer  pain." 

Nevertheless,  the  malediction  is  fulfilled  at  the  pre- 
destined time,  when  Jupiter  is  cast  down  from  his  throne 
by  the  power  here  named  "  Demogorgon  "  : — 

DEMOGORGON  moves  towards  the  throne  ^/JUPITER. 

"Jupiter.  Mercy!  mercy! 

No  pity,  no  release,  no  respite !    Oh, 
That  thou  wouldst  make  mine  enemy  my  judge, 
Even  where  he  hangs,  seared  by  my  long  revenge, 
On  Caucasus !  he  would  not  doom  me  thus. 
Gentle  and  just,  and  dreadless,  is  he  not 
The  monarch  of  the  world  ?     What  art  thou  ? 
No  refuge !  no  appeal ! 

Sink  with  me  then, 

We  two  will  sink  on  the  wide  waves  of  ruin, 
Even  as  a  vulture  and  a  snake  outspent 
Drop,  twisted  in  inextricable  fight, 
Into  a  shoreless  sea.     Let  hell  unlock 
Its  mounded  oceans  of  tempestuous  fire, 
And  whelm  on  them  into  the  bottomless  void 
This  desolated  world,  and  thee,  and  me, 
The  conqueror  and  the  conquered  and  the  wreck 
Of  that  for  which  they  combated. 

Ai!  Ai! 

The  elements  obey  me  not.     I  sink 
Dizzily  down,  ever,  for  ever  down. 
And,  like  a  cloud,  mine  enemy  above 
Darkens  my  fall  with  victory.    Ai !  Ai ! " 


204  ENGLISH  POETS. 

So  falls  Jupiter.  Prometheus  is  immediately  released 
from  his  chains  by  Hercules,  who  thus  addresses  the 
benevolent  Titan  : — 

"  Most  glorious  among  spirits !  thus  doth  strength 
To  wisdom,  courage,  and  long-suffering  love, 
And  thee,  who  art  the  form  they  animate, 
Minister  like  a  slave." 

Universal  gladness  follows  the  dethronement  of  Ju- 
piter and  the  liberation  of  Prometheus.  To  use  an 
oriental  form  of  expression,  Ocean,  the  Earth,  and  the 
Moon  "  break  forth  into  singing."  Thus  "  the  Earth " 
expresses  her  own  joy  when  first  she  hears  the  tidings 
that  her  mighty  son  is  once  more  free  : — 

"  The  Earth.  I  hear,  I  feel; 

Thy  lips  are  on  me,  and  thy  touch  runs  down 
Even  to  the  adamantine  central  gloom 
Along  these  marble  nerves  ;  'iis  life,  'tis  joy, 
And  through  my  witherd,  old,  and  icy  frame 
The  warmth  of  an  immortal  youth  shoots  down 
Circling.     Henceforth  the  many  children  fair 
Folded  in  my  sustaining  arms ;  all  plants, 
And  creeping  forms,  and  insects  rainbow-winged, 
And  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fish,  and  human  shapes, 
Which  drew  disease  and  pain  from  my  wan  bosom, 
Draining  the  poison  of  despair,  shall  take 
And  interchange  sweet  nutriment ;  to  me 
Shall  they  become  like  sister-antelopes 
By  one  fair  dam,  snow-white  and  swift  as  wind, 
Nursed  among  lilies  near  a  brimming  stream." 

The  closing  passages  of  the  drama  are  introduced  by 
the  Poet's  boldest  lyrical  strains.  For  him,  in  such  a 


SHELLEY.  205 

mood  of  inspiration,  no  part  of  the  universe  is  inanimate. 
That  love  shall  henceforth  be  life's  universal  law  is  the 
burden  of  an  antiphonal  song,  in  which  "the  Earth  "  and 
"  the  Moon,"  singing  alternately,  thus  express  their  rap- 
turous delight : — 

"  THE  EARTH. 

"The  joy,  the  triumph,  the  delight,  the  madness  ! 

The  boundless,  overflowing,  bursting  gladness, 

The  vaporous  exultation  not  to  be  confined ! 
Ha!  ha!  the  animation  of  delight 
Which  wraps  me,  like  an  atmosphere  of  light, 

And  bears  me  as  a  cloud  is  borne  by  its  own  wind. 

"  THE  MOON. 

"  Brother  mine,  calm  wanderer, 

Happy  globe  of  land  and  air, 
Some  Spirit  is  darted  like  a  beam  from  thee, 

Which  penetrates  my  frozen  frame, 

And  passes  with  the  warmth  of  flame, 
With  love,  and  odour,  and  deep  melody 

Through  me,  through  me  ! 

"  THE  EARTH. 

"  Ha !  ha !  the  caverns  of  my  hollow  mountains, 
My  cloven  fire-crags,  sound-exulting  fountains 
Laugh  with  a  vast  and  inextinguishable  laughter. 
The  oceans,  and  the  deserts,  and  the  abysses, 
And  the  deep  air's  unmeasured  wildernesses, 
Answer  from  all  their  clouds  and  billows,  echoing  after. 

"  THE  MOON. 

"  The  snow  upon  my  lifeless  mountains 
Is  loosened  inta  living  fountains, 


206  ENGLISH   POETS. 

My  solid  oceans  flow,  and  sing,  and  shine  : 

A  spirit  from  my  heart  bursts  forth, 

It  clothes  with  unexpected  birth 
My  cold  bare  bosom :  Oh  !  it  must  be  thine 
On  mine,  on  mine ! 

"  Gazing  on  thee,  I  feel,  I  know 

Green  stalks  burst  forth,  and  bright  flowers  grow, 

And  living  shapes  upon  my  bosom  move : 

Music  is  in  the  sea  and  air, 

Winged  clouds  soar  here  and  there, 
Dark  with  the  rain  new  buds  are  dreaming  of : 
'Tis  love,  all  love ! " 

To  conclude  the  poem,  and  to  give  in  a  direct  form 
the  meaning  of  all  its  mythology,  the  following  words 
are  spoken  by  the  power  named  "  Demogorgon  :" — 

"  To  suffer  woes  which  Hope  thinks  infinite ; 
To  forgive  wrongs  darker  than  death  or  night ; 

To  defy  Power,  which  seems  omnipotent ; 
To  love,  and  bear ;  to  hope  till  Hope  creates 
From  its  own  wreck  the  thing  it  contemplates ; 

Neither  to  change,  nor  flatter,  nor  repent; 
This,  like  thy  glory,  Titan,  is  to  be 
Good,  great  and  joyous,  beautiful  and  free ; 
This  is  alone  Life,  Joy,  Empire,  and  Victory." 


LONGFELLOW. 

E  want  a  national  epic  that  shall  correspond 
to  the  size  of  the  country ;  that  shall  be  to 
all  other  epics  what  Banvard's  Panorama  of 
the  Mississippi  is  to  all  other  paintings — the 
largest  in  the  world."  These  words  Mr.  LONGFELLOW 
(in  one  of  his  stories)  ascribes  to  a  critic  whose  notions 
of  poetry  are  original  and  shallow.  Poetry,  as  we  have 
seen,  implies  a  union  of  elements  of  which  scenery  is 
only  one,  while  others  are  derived  from  social  and 
national  life,  general  culture,  and  religion.  Such  a  union 
of  many  elements  as  was  required  for  the  development 
of  Shakespeare  and  Milton  can  by  no  means  occur  in 
every  time  or  in  every  place.  Some  literary  historians 
have  erroneously  written  in  an  apologetic  strain  of 
poor  imitative  verses  called  "American  poetry"  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  The  true  apology  is  found  in  the 
social,  political  and  religious  history  of  America  in  the 


208  ENGLISH   POETS. 

colonial  time.  Near  the  close  of  the  year  1620,  the 
"  pilgrim  fathers "  arrived  at  Plymouth.  More  than  a 
century  and  a  half  passed  away,  and  then  the  political 
bond  between  Old  England  and  her  colonies  in  North 
America  was  severed.  But  the  people  of  the  United 
States  were  still  English.  They  still  spoke  "  the  tongue 
that  Shakespeare  spoke,"  and  still  held  the  faith  and  the 
morals  that  Milton  held.  It  was  decreed  by  the  Spirit 
who  controls  the  whole  current  of  historical  events,  that 
the  men  of  the  United  States  might  change,  as  they 
pleased,  that  comparatively  unimportant  thing,  the  form 
of  their  government ;  but  meanwhile  they  must  retain 
their  grand  inheritance — our  unrivalled  language,  our 
English  literature,  our  poetry.  Why  should  a  people  to 
whom  Shakespeare  belongs  be  proud  of  any  artificial 
originality ;  or  wish  to  begin,  in  poetry,  ab  ovo  and  de 
novof  Do  we  speak  too  boldly?  Then  Mr.  LONG- 
FELLOW  shall  speak  for  us,  in  support  of  our  theory, 
that,  in  its  higher  developments — especially  in  poetry 
— American  literature  must  be  English.  The  following 
quotation  is  part  of  a  conversation  introduced  by  Mr. 
Longfellow  in  his  story  entitled  "  Kavanagh  "  : — 

"  You  admit  nationality  to  be  a  good  thing  ? 

"  Yes,  if  not  carried  too  far  ;  still,  I  confess,  it  rather  limits  one's 
views  of  truth.  I  prefer  what  is  natural.  Mere  nationality  is  often 
ridiculous.  Every  one  smiles  when  he  hears  the  Icelandic  proverb : 
'  Iceland  is  the  best  land  the  sun  shines  upon.'  Let  us  be  natural, 
and  we  shall  be  national  enough.  Besides,  our  literature  can  be 
strictly  national  only  so  far  as  our  character  and  modes  of  thought 


LONGFELLOW.  209 

differ  from  those  of  other  nations.  Now,  as  we  are  very  like  the 
English — are,  in  fact,  English  under  a  different  sky — I  do  not  see 
how  our  literature  can  be  very  different  from  theirs.  Westward, 
from  hand  to  hand,  we  pass  the  lighted  torch,  but  it  was  lighted 
at  the  old  domestic  fireside  of  England." 

Though  Mr.  Longfellow's  views  of  nationality  and 
originality  are  thus  moderated  by  his  general  cul- 
ture, he  is  the  most  popular  of  the  writers  who  may 
be  called  "  English-American."  He  is  an  English  poet 
when  we  consider  his  purity  and  melody  in  writing  our 
language,  while  he  remains  a  true  American  with  respect 
to  choice  of  themes  and  scenery  in  several  of  his  best 
productions  : — "  Evangeline  ;"  the  "  Courtship  of  Miles 
Standish ;"  and  the  "  Song  of  Hiawatha." 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW  was  born  at  the 
city  of  Portland  (in  Maine)  on  the  2/th  of  February,  in 
1807.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  graduated  with  high 
honours  at  Bowdoin  College,  and  about  the  same  time 
published  several  occasional  poems.  After  a  short  in- 
terval devoted  to  the  study  of  law,  he  accepted  the 
newly  founded  professorship  of  modern  languages  in 
Bowdoin  College,  and  to  prepare  himself  for  its  duties, 
left  America,  and  passed  three  years  and  a  half  in 
travelling  and  residing  in  France,  Italy,  Spain,  Germany, 
Holland,  and  England. 

His  residence  in  Germany,  and  the  study  of  the 
poetical  literature  of  that  country,  had  a  lasting  in- 
fluence on  his  taste  and  imagination  ;  and  it  has  been 
E  E 


210  ENGLISH   POETS. 

asserted  by  some,  that  his  love  of  the  romantic  and 
mystical  old  legends  of  central  Europe  led  him  away 
too  far  from  the  range  of  topics  proper  for  an  American 
poet.  He  has,  however,  defended  his  own  choice  of 
subjects,  and  has  protested  against  every  narrow  notion 
of  a  national  literature.  "All  that  is  best,"  he  says,  "  in 
the  great  poets  of  all  countries,  is  not  what  is  national 
in  them,  but  what  is  universal.  Their  roots  are  in  their 
native  soil,  but  their  branches  wave  in  the  unpatriotic 
air,  that  speaks  the  same  language  unto  all  men,  and 
their  leaves  shine  with  the  illimitable  light  that  pervades 
all  lands." 

In  1835,  when  Mr.  George  Ticknor  (the  literary  his- 
torian of  Spain)  resigned  the  chair  of  modern  languages 
in  Harvard  College,  Mr.  Longfellow  was  elected  to 
take  the  vacant  place.  To  qualify  himself  more  fully 
for  the  duties  of  that  position,  he  again  visited  Europe, 
and  there  continued  his  studies  of  Teutonic  languages 
and  their  literatures.  Of  these  studies  some  results 
appeared  (in  1845)  in  a  work  entitled  "the  Poets  and 
Poetry  of  Europe,"  of  which  an  extended  and  revised 
edition  was  published  in  1871.  After  the  resignation  of 
his  professorship  (in  1854)  Mr.  Longfellow  lived  in  re- 
tirement at  Cambridge,  there  devoting  his  leisure  to 
studies  of  which  the  fruits  are  found  in  numerous 
original  poems,  and  in  translations  of  poetry.  To  the 
former  belong  the  "  Song  of  Hiawatha,"  published  in 
1855;  the  "Courtship  of  Miles  Standish"  (1858),  and 


LONGFELLOW.  211 

"Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn"  (1863).  The  translation  of 
Dante  (published  in  1867-70)  was  one  of  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's most  laborious  tasks.  In  1868-9  he  once  more 
visited  England,  and  was  here  received  with  the  honour 
due  to  a  poet,  a  scholar,  and  a  man  who  eminently  re- 
presents the  literary  union  of  America  and  England. 

With  respect  to  their  form,  Mr.  Longfellow's  metrical 
writings  belong  to  the  three  classes,  lyrical,  narrative, 
and  dramatic  ;  but  the  true  character  of  his  genius  is 
lyrical  and  reflective.  He  seldom  excites,  or  endeavours 
to  excite,  the  more  violent  passions.  He  would  rather 
quell  than  call  into  action  the  feelings  that,  in  the  heart 
of  man,  are  akin  to  stormy  transitions  in  nature — 

"  The  wind,  the  tempest  roaring  high, 
The  tumult  of  a  tropic  sky." 

Gracefulness  and  facility  are  the  author's  most  pro- 
minent artistic  qualities,  and  purity  of  sentiment  is  a 
characteristic  of  all  that  he  has  written.  The  earnest 
tones  of  his  didactic  verse  have  made  his  "  Psalm  of 
Life "  and  his  "  Ladder  of  St.  Augustine,"  household 
words  in  England  as  in  America  ;  but  we  like  better  his 
"  Village  Blacksmith,"  for  there  the  lesson  is  given  in 
a  life-like  example.  It  is  one  of  the  Poet's  merits  that 
he  can  find  in  pure,  classic  English  abundant  means 
of  expression  for  all  his  thoughts,  emotions,  and  im- 
aginations. The  tone  that  pervades  several  of  his  most 
pleasing  productions  may  be  called  elegiac,  yet  it  is  by 


212  ENGLISH  POETS. 

no  means  gloomy.    This  pensive  tone  pervades  the  whole 
of  the  idyll  entitled  "  Evangeline." 

A  controversy  too  extensive  to  be  fairly  noticed  here 
is  suggested  by  the  form  called  "English  hexameter 
verse,"  which  the  Poet  has  employed  in  "  Evangeline," 
a  story  founded  on  an  event  in  the  history  of  Nova 
Scotia,  formerly  called  "Acadia."  In  1755  the  people 
of  Acadia,  accused  of  giving  aid  to  the  French,  were 
expatriated,  and,  in  the  haste  attending  their  dispersion, 
families  and  friends  were  separated.  At  that  time  Evan- 
geline, the  heroine  of  the  poem,  was  living  with  her 
father,  an  Acadian  farmer,  at  the  village  of  Grand-Pre, 
and  was  betrothed  to  Gabriel,  the  son  of  a  neighbour. 
Their  marriage  was  prevented  by  the  burning  of  the 
village  and  the  expatriation  of  the  people.  Overcome 
by  the  calamity,  the  father  of  Evangeline  died  on  the 
sea- shore,  while  Gabriel  and  his  father  were  carried  away 
into  exile.  Thus  the  lovers  were  separated,  and  the 
remainder  of  the  poem  describes  the  long  wanderings  of 
the  maiden  in  search  of  her  betrothed.  The  places 
visited  by  Evangeline,  and  the  incidents  of  her  journeys, 
are  described  in  the  second  part  of  the  poem.  Led 
onward  by  various  rumours,  the  maiden  follows  every 
direction,  however  vague  and  shadowy,  that  seems  to 
point  towards  Gabriel. 

"  Sometimes  she  lingered  in  towns,  till,  urged  by  the  fever  within 

her, 
Urged  by  a  restless  longing,  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  spirit, 


LONGFELLOW.  213 

She  would  commence  again  her  endless  search  and  endeavour ; 
Sometimes  in  church-yards  strayed,  and  gazed  on  the  crosses  and 

tombstones, 

Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thought  that  perhaps  in  its  bosom 
He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slumber  beside  him. 
Sometimes  a  rumour,  a  hearsay,  an  inarticulate  whisper, 
Came  with  its  airy  hand,  to  point  and  beckon  her  forward. 
Sometimes  she  spake  with  those  who  had  seen  her  belov6d  and 

known  him ; 
But  it  was  long  ago,  in  some  far-off  place  or  forgotten." 

Year  after  year  passes  away  in  the  search.  At  last, 
in  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  the  long  pilgrimage  finds  a 
close.  Here  Evangeline,  now  advanced  in  years,  be- 
comes a  member  of  the  order  "  Sisters  of  Mercy,"  and 
while  a  pestilence  is  spreading,  devotes  herself  to 
attendance  on  afflicted  poor  people.  It  is  a  Sabbath 
morning,  when  she  is  called  upon  to  visit  a  dying  man, 
who  has  been  brought  into  the  alms-house.  She  enters 
the  chamber,  and  comes  near  the  bed  where  the  patient 
lies. 

"  Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a  feeling  of  wonder, 
Still  she  stood,  with  her  colourless  lips  apart,  while  a  shudder 
Ran  through  her  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  flowerets  dropped  from 

her  fingers, 

And  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks  the  light  and  bloom  of  the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such  terrible  anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from  their  pillows. 
On  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched  the  form  of  an  old  man. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray,  were  the  locks  that  shaded  his  temples  ; 
But^as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for  a  moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  form  of  its  earlier  manhood 
(So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those  who  are  dying). 


214  ENGLISH   POETS. 

Motionless,  senseless,  dying  he  lay,  and  his  spirit,  exhausted, 
Seemed  to  be  sinking  down  through  infinite  depths  in  the  dark- 
ness— 

Darkness  of  slumber  and  death— for  ever  sinking  and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  multiplied  reverberations, 
Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through  the  hush  that  succeeded 
Whispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and  saint-like  : 
'  Gabriel !  O  my  beloved  ! ' — and  died  away  into  silence. 
Then  he  beheld,  in  a  dream,  once  more  the  home  of  his  childhood  ; 
Green  Acadian  meadows,  with  sylvan  rivers  among  them, 
Village,  and  mountain,  and  woodlands  ;  and  walking  under  their 

shadow, 

As  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in  his  vision. 
Tears  came  into  his  eyes  ;  and,  as  slowly  he  lifted  his  eyelids, 
Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  kneeled  by  his  bedside. 
Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,  for  the  accents,  unuttered, 
Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what  the  tongue  would 

have  spoken. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  rise  ;  and  Evangeline,  kneeling  beside  him, 
Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  bosom. 
Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes ;  but  it  suddenly  sank  into  darkness, 
As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of  wind  at  a  casement." 

In  the  "  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish,"  the  Poet  tells 
a  story  of  the  times  when  the  Pilgrims  fought  for  their 
lives  with  Red  Men — sometimes  with  bears — and  were 
too  busy  in  their  "  wilderness  work  "  (so  they  called  it) 
to  care  for  any  poetry  except  their  Psalm  Book. 

In  the  "Song  of  Hiawatha"  (which  has  been  called 
an  "  Indian  Edda ")  the  Poet  reproduces,  with  some 
imaginative  decorations,  myths  and  legends,  including 
the  best  unwritten  poetry  of  the  North  American 
Indians.  "Hiawatha"  is  one  of  the  names  ascribed  by 


LONGFELLOW.  215 

tradition  to  a  miraculous  person,  the  guardian  and 
teacher,  who  came  from  heaven  to  teach  the  Red  Men 
of  old  times  the  arts  of  peace.  With  this  principal 
legend  the  Poet  has  interwoven  other  stories,  all  founded 
more  or  less  on  a  mythology  of  which  the  outlines  are 
faithfully  preserved.  The  story  of  "  Shingebiss  the 
Diver  "  is  a  fair  example  of  several  tales  given  with  re- 
markable fidelity,  and  serving  as  expressions  of  feelings 
and  intuitions  that  supplied  for  the  Red  Man  the  want 
of  a  creed.  He  had  no  abstract  notions.  For  him  joy 
was  "  a  bright  sun,"  or  "  a  clear  blue  sky,"  and  adversity 
was  "  a  thorny  plant."  He  was  not  a  materialist ;  for 
he  ascribed  every  visible  effect  to  an  invisible  cause  or 
source  of  power,  which  he  called  the  "  manito  "  or  spirit. 
As  he  conceived,  a  "  manito  "  gave  the  spark  from  the 
flint,  made  the  blade  of  grass  grow,  flowed  in  the  stream, 
and  gave  energy  to  the  wind  ;  but  in  every  instance 
the  notion  was  concrete  and  particular.  If  a  wild  animal 
had  power  to  resist  the  cold  of  winter,  it  was  because 
the  "  manito  "  in  the  animal  was  more  powerful  than  his 
antagonist.  The  Red  Man  believed  in  spells  and  dreams 
and  in  admonitions  coming  from  an  unseen  world.  He 
believed  also  in  a  life  beyond  the  grave ;  but  it  was  not 
an  ideal  life,  abstracted  from  all  the  sights  and  sounds 
of  mother  earth.  The  spirit  of  the  Red  Man  goes  to 
the  hunting-ground  in  the  far-off  south-west,  where  he 
finds  abundance  of  game,  with  beans  and  maize,  and 
there  he  feasts  joyfully  with  his  friends.  The  conclusion 


216  ENGLISH   POETS. 

of  the  poem,  in  which  so  many  pleasing  legends  are 
preserved,  tells  of  the  coming  of  the  white  men,  and 
the  departure  of  Hiawatha  is  described  in  these  me- 
lodious lines  : — 

"  On  the  shore  stood  Hiawatha, 
Turned  and  waved  his  hand  at  parting ; 
On  the  clear  and  luminous  water 
Launched  his  birch-canoe  for  sailing, 
From  the  pebbles  of  the  margin 
Shoved  it  forth  into  the  water : 
Whispered  to  it,  '  Westward  !  Westward ! ' 
And  with  speed  it  darted  forward. 

And  the  evening  sun  descending 
Set  the  clouds  on  fire  with  redness, 
Burned  the  broad  sky,  like  a  prairie, 
Left  upon  the  level  water 
One  long  track  and  trail  of  splendour, 
Down  whose  stream,  as  down  a  river, 
Westward,  westward  Hiawatha 
Sailed  into  the  fiery  sunset, 
Sailed  into  the  purple  vapours, 
Sailed  into  the  dusk  of  evening. 

And  the  people  from  the  margin 
Watched  him  floating,  rising,  sinking, 
Till  the  birch-canoe  seemed  lifted 
High  into  that  sea  of  splendour, 
Till  it  sank  into  the  vapours 
Like  the  new  moon  slowly,  slowly 
Sinking  in  the  purple  distance. 

And  they  said, '  Fareweh  for  ever  ! ' 
Said  '  Farewell,  O  Hiawatha  ! ' 
And  the  forests,  dark  and  lonely, 
Moved  through  all  their  depths  of  darkness, 
Sighed,  '  Farewell,  O  Hiawatha  ! ' 


LONGFELLOW.  217 

And  the  waves  upon  the  margin 
Rising,  rippling  on  the  pebbles, 
Sobbed,  '  Farewell,  O  Hiawatha  ! ' 
And  the  heron,  the  Shuh-shuh-gah, 
From  her  haunts  among  the  fen-lands, 
Screamed,  '  Farewell,  O  Hiawatha  ! '  " 

Mr.  Longfellow  has  written  several  poems  having  a 
dramatic  form: — the  "Spanish  Student"  (1845),  the 
"Golden  Legend"  (1851),  and  a  passion-play  called 
the  "  Divine  Tragedy"  (1871).  These  poems  cannot  be 
strictly  called  dramas.  In  a  true  drama  every  action, 
every  speech  must  serve  as  part  of  one  general  move- 
ment and  aid  in  leading  to  one  conclusion.  No  isolated 
lyrical  declamation — however  poetical — must  interrupt 
the  movement.  Sentimental  passages  that  may  be 
cither  inserted  or  omitted  are  out  of  place.  A  drama  is 
not  a  string  of  pearls,  but  has  a  construction  to  which 
nothing  can  be  added,  and  from  which  nothing  can  be 
taken  away.  It  is  by  no  means  denied  here  that  the 
"  Spanish  Student  "  and  the  "  Golden  Legend  "  contain 
true  poetry.  A  man  may  be  a  great  poet,  and  yet  may 
fail  when  he  attempts  writing  a  drama.  Byron's  dra- 
matic works  are,  as  we  have  said,  mostly  failures,  and 
the  same  may  be  said  of  Wordsworth's  poems  written  in 
a  dramatic  form. 

In    Mr.    Longfellow's    occasional    lyrical    poems   are 

found   beautiful    and    sometimes    distinctly    American 

traits   of   scenery  ;   gentle   and   pure   sentiments ;    true 

moral  lessons  (too  often  directly  given),  and  a  religious 

F  F 


218  ENGLISH  POETS. 

tone,  purer  than  that  of  "  sacred  poems"  characterized 
by  an  irreverent  repetition  of  certain  names  and  phrases. 
Of  many  pleasant  lyrical  poems  the  following,  addressed 
to  "  Children,"  is  a  fair  example  : — 

"  Come  to  me,  O  ye  children  ! 

For  I  hear  you  are  at  your  play, 
And  the  questions  that  perplex  me 

Have  vanished  quite  away. 

"  Ye  open  the  eastern  windows, 

That  look  towards  the  sun, 
Where  thoughts  are  singing  swallows 

And  the  brooks  of  morning  run. 

"  In  your  hearts  are  the  birds  and  the  sunshine, 

In  your  thoughts  the  brooklets  flow, 
But  in  mine  is  the  wind  of  Autumn, 

And  the  first  fall  of  the  snow. 

"  Ah  !  what  would  the  world  be  to  us 

If  the  children  were  no  more  ? 
We  should  dread  the  desert  behind  us 

Worse  than  the  dark  before. 

"  What  the  leaves  are  to  the  forest, 

With  light  and  air  for  food, 
Ere  their  sweet  and  tender  juices 

Have  been  hardened  into  wood, — 

"  That  to  the  world  are  children  ; 

Through  them  it  feels  the  glow 
Of  a  brighter  and  sunnier  climate 

Than  reaches  the  trunks  below. 

"  Come  to  me,  O  ye  children, 

And  whisper  in  my  ear 
What  the  birds  and  the  winds  are  singing 

In  your  sunny  atmosphere. 


LONGFELLOW.  219 

"  For  what  are  all  our  contrivings, 

And  the  wisdom  of  our  books, 
When  compared  with  your  caresses, 

And  the  gladness  of  your  looks  ? 

"  Ye  are  better  than  all  the  ballads 

That  ever  were  sung  or  said  ; 
For  ye  are  living  poems, 

And  all  the  rest  are  dead." 

After  all  that  has  been  said  of  Mr.  Longfellow's 
gracefulness  and  facility  in  lyrical  poetry,  it  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  he  has  written  energetic  epic  poetry,  of 
which  a  fine  specimen  is  seen  in  "  Paul  Revere's  Ride," 
or  the  Landlord's  Tale,  in  "Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn." 
The  story,  though  told  with  artistic  power  and  con- 
ciseness, is  still  too  long  for  our  limits.  Instead  of  it 
may  be  given  an  old  favourite — the  "  Village  Black- 
smith." May  we  hope  to  be  forgiven  for  omitting  the 
final  stanza — the  moral  lesson  ?  The  poem  is,  we  be- 
lieve, complete  as  here  given  : — 

"  Under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree 

The  village  smi'thy  stands  ; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands  ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 

Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

"  His  hair  is  crisp  and  black  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan  ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat, 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 


ENGLISH  POETS. 

"  Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow  ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat,  and  slow, 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village-bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

"  And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door  ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  thrashing-fluor. 

"  He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And  sits  among  his  boys  ; 
He  hears  the  paison  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

"  It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mother's  voice, 

Singing  in  Paradise ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies  ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 
Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 

Something  attempted,  something  dune, 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose." 


TENNYSON. 

F  all  characteristics  ascribed  to  our  English 
Poetry  of  the  present  century,  that  of  which 
there  can  be  the  least  dispute  is  variety — 
the  result  of  independence  and  individual 
courage  in  choice  of  themes  and  modes  of  treatment. 
A  revolution  has  taken  place  since  the  time  of  Words- 
worth's warfare  with  critics.  Crabbe,  Coleridge,  Scott, 
Byron,  Shelley,  Keats,  Tennyson  —  these  names  are 
enough  to  indicate  a  variety  of  thoughts  and  forms  of 
expression,  greater  than  can  be  found  in  all  the  poetry 
of  the  time  when  Boileau  was  reigning.  The  expansion 
of  ideas  and  forms  in  modern  poetry  has  of  course  made 
criticism  more  difficult.  Errors,  too  well  known  to  be 
named  again,  warn  us  of  danger,  when  we  would  attempt 
to  give  any  comparative  estimate  of  poetical  works  pro- 
duced in  our  own  time.  Here  we  have  no  aid  derived 


222  ENGLISH   POETS. 

from  earlier  criticism,  confirmed  by  time's  verdict;  no 
aid  like  that  afforded  by  distance  when  we  would 
study  distinct  traits  in  a  landscape.  A  substitute  for 
distance  might  be  found  in  a  clear  theory,  as  far  remote 
from  prejudice  as  heaven  from  earth ;  but  who  can 
boast  of  having  more  than  a  glimpse  of  such  a  theory 
of  poetry  ? 

In  too  many  respects,  the  age  in  which  we  live  is  un- 
favourable to  any  culture  that  may  be  called  ideal ;  in- 
deed this  word  "  ideal "  is  sometimes  treated  as  useless, 
and  in  some  recent  works  on  "  culture  "  hardly  a  word  is 
said  of  poetry ! 

"  The  world  is  too  much  with  us  ;  late  and  soon, 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers." 

But  Poetry  has  not  been  utterly  frightened  and  driven 
away  by  Mammon,  genius  of  blackened  rivers  and  skies 
beclouded  with  perpetual  smoke.  Sometimes,  it  is  true, 
our  modern  poets  have  retreated  from  the  present  age 
and,  in  their  antique  or  mediaeval  world,  have  found 
their  legendary  or  ideal  themes  ;  but  here  and  there  are 
still  heard  strains  accordant  with  the  sorrow  and  the 
hope  of  the  present  age.  These  strains  are  not  mono- 
tonous, but  may  be  called  respectively  conservative  and 
liberal,  though  such  words  may  for  a  moment  seem  here 
out  of  place.  Our  cotemporary  poets  cannot,  without 
a  sacrifice  of  art,  write  in  a  dry  or  harsh  and  contro- 


TENNYSON.  223 

versial  manner  of  political  or  any  other  doctrines.  But 
there  may  be  powerful  though  indirect  teaching  con- 
veyed in  tones  too  vague  to  be  readily  defined.  To  give 
one  example,  may  we  not  call  the  general  tendency  of 
Keble's  quiet  and  half-mystic  poems  "  conservative  "  in 
an  ecclesiastical  sense  ?  On  the  other  side,  do  we  not 
hear  in  many  songs — by  no  means  to  be  called  imita- 
tive —  Shelley's  own  voice,  predicting  once  more  the 
dawn  of  a  new  era  ? 

The  two  tendencies,  here  called  respectively  conserva- 
tive and  liberal,  are  not  all  that  belong  to  our  latest 
poetical  literature.  Veneration  for  the  past  and  hopes 
of  an  expansive  and  harmonious  future  are  conciliated  in 
the  meditative  poetry  written  by  the  author  of  "In 
Memoriam."  That  series  of  lyrical  and  reflective  poems 
cannot  be  fairly  described  either  as  one  long  elegy,  or  as 
a  series  of  elegies.  German  reviewers  have  made  an 
error  in  calling  the  whole  work  a  "  Todtenklage"  or 
lamentation  for  one  departed.  The  lamentation  is  but 
one  of  several  passages,  though  it  certainly  serves  as  the 
source  of  all  that  follow.  From  that  source  flow  other 
expressions  that,  in  their  quiet  course,  gradually  trans- 
mute an  individual  grief  into  sympathy  with  the  general 
sorrow  and  the  sustaining  hope  of  mankind.  The  Poet 
does  not  evade  but  confronts  doubt  and  negation  attend- 
ing modern  science.  In  the  strains  numbered  55  and 
56,  and  again  in  124,  he  refers  to  the  doubts  that  may 


224  ENGLISH   POETS. 

follow  a  scientific  exploration  of  nature  ;  but  he  does  not 
condemn  modern  science.  There  may  be  found  some- 
thing more  like  condemnation  in  words  used  by  Dr. 
Newman,  when  speaking  of  the  intrusion  of  science  into 
the  realms  belonging  to  faith  and  imagination.  "  Poetry," 
he  says,  "  is  always  the  antagonist  to  science.  As 
science  makes  progress  in  any  subject-matter,  poetry 
recedes  from  it."  It  will  be  sad  indeed  when  poetry  is 
compelled,  by  dint  of  analysis,  to  recede  from  nature ; 
for  at  that  time  poetry  must  cease  to  exist. 

The  author  of  "  In  Memoriam  "  has  not  predicted  the 
coming  of  a  time  when  science  shall  take  the  place  of 
faith  and  imagination.  In  the  closing  passages  of  the 
poem  he  speaks  of  an  immortal  life ;  of  a  communion  of 
the  seen  with  the  unseen  world ;  of  an  expansive  and 
harmonious  future.  These  themes  have  for  their  accom- 
paniment fine  music  in  the  strains  numbered  118  and 
130.  But  these  passages,  belonging  to  a  series,  must 
not  be  given  here  as  unconnected  excerpts.  Their  lead- 
ing ideas  may  be  given ;  for  these  are  found  in  the 
writings  of  men  who  have  been  called  theorists  and 
dreamers.  Without  such  dreams  as  theirs  our  modern 
poetry  might  be  melodious,  sensuous,  and  brilliant,  but 
it  would  have  no  deep  and  permanent  influence.  The 
intuitions  expressed  in  meditative  poetry  of  the  highest 
order  accord  well  with  a  theory  of  which  the  following 
quotation  gives  a  summary  : — 


TENNYSON.  225 

"  Our  will,  as  here  expressed  in  our  thoughts  and  actions,  deter- 
mines the  character  of  our  future  life.  .  .  .  Our  actions  every  day 
take  place  in  a  vast  theatre,  of  which  the  highest  tiers — to  us  in- 
visible— are  crowded  with  spectators,  who  regard  with  keen  interest 

every  movement  in  our  lives Death  will  let  us  know  more 

clearly  what  we  already  partly  know — the  character  of  the  society 
to  which  we  spiritually  belong.  Here  departed  friends,  and  thou- 
sands whom  we  have  never  called  friends,  converse  with  us  without 
the  aid  of  words ;  there  we  shall  be  introduced  to  no  strangers,  but 
shall  more  intimately  know  those  with  whom  we  now  hold  com- 
munion. The  better  we  grow  the  stronger ;  for  more  and  more 
numerous  will  be  the  souls  living  in  communion  with  our  own. 
Those  whom  we  call  '  the  departed '  are  not  absorbed,  so  as  to  be 
lost  in  One  Universal  Soul,  but  while  all  have  a  common  centre, 
each  has  its  own ;  so  that  all  their  lives  are  like  so  many  stars- 
each  receiving  and  shedding  light ;  all  surrounded  by  one  common 
radiance." 

Nearly  all  the  leading  traits  displayed  in  Mr.  Tenny- 
son's later  works  were  indicated  in  his  earlier  poems, 
published  as  long  ago  as  1830.  At  that  time  they  had 
to  encounter  some  hostile  criticism.  One  of  the  more 
truly  appreciative  reviews  was  written  by  a  poet — Wilson 
— who,  though  he  mingled  with  his  praise  some  blame, 
could  see  the  beauty  and  originality  of  such  poems  as 
"  Mariana,"  "  Oriana,"  "  Recollections  of  the  Arabian 
Nights,"  and,  above  all,  "  The  Miller's  Daughter."  The 
scenery  of  these  and  other  early  poems  was  falsely  gene- 
ralized by  one  reviewer,  who  spoke  of  the  young  Poet  as 
of  "  a  dweller  amidst  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire."  That 
shire  has  its  own  grandeur,  as  well  as  beauty,  in  spacious 
G  G 


226  ENGLISH   POETS. 

views  of  wolds  and  pastures,  with  here  and  there  lofty 
spires  of  churches.  The  scenery  of  "  Oriana  "  and  "  The 
Miller's  Daughter  "  comprises,  among  other  traits,  a  sea- 
shore and  long  high  wolds,  looking  down  over  many 
village  spires. 

After  1842,  when  two  volumes  appeared,  containing, 
with  some  reprints,  many  excellent  new  poems,  the 
author's  reputation  was  more  widely  extended,  and  few 
were  found  to  call  in  question  his  originality.  "The 
Princess,  a  Medley,"  published  in  1847,  was  followed  by 
"  In  Memoriam,"  already  noticed  as  the  author's  most 
thoughtful  production,  which  appeared  in  1850,  when 
the  author  was  appointed  Poet  Laureate.  In  1855  stern 
thoughts  excited  by  social  and  military  affairs  were 
boldly  expressed  in  "  Maud,"  a  poem  telling  a  love- 
story  by  means  of  a  series  of  passionate  lyrical  strains, 
of  which  several  combine  well  beauty  and  melody  with 
a  dramatic  interest.  "  Enoch  Arden,"  a  pathetic  idyll 
— especially  admired  by  many  German  as  by  many 
English  readers  —  was  published  with  other  poems  in 
1864.  Of  its  companions  one — "  The  Northern  Farmer" 
—  is  intensely  humorous.  To  the  interval  1858  —  72, 
belong  the  series  of  poems  in  blank  verse,  entitled  "  Idylls 
of  the  King,"  called  by  the  writer  "  new-old  "  poems,  of 
which  the  central  idea  is  represented  by  King  Arthur. 
That  idea,  divested  of  imaginative  forms,  and  lights  and 
shadows  of  an  old,  mythical,  and  picturesque  world,  is 


TENNYSON.  227 

equivalent  to  an  assertion  of  the  supremacy  of  conscience 
— conscience  reverenced  and  obeyed, 

"  As  God's  most  intimate  presence  in  the  soul, 
And  his  most  perfect  image  in  the  world." 

For  a  poetic  representation  of  that  idea,  the  old  myth 
of  "The  Oral"  seems  more  appropriate  than  some 
legends  of  "  The  Round  Table."  The  Poet's  wealth  of 
imagination  and  his  graphic  power  of  expression  are 
finely  displayed  in  his  "  Idylls  of  the  King." 

With  respect  to  their  forms,  the  Poet's  works — except- 
ing the  drama,  "  Queen  Mary," — may  be  mostly  divided 
into  the  two  classes,  lyrical  and  narrative.  The  former 
class  includes  a  rich  variety  of  tones,  though  love  is  the 
principal  theme  of  the  lyrical  poems.  "  Locksley  Hall " 
and  "The  Lotus  Eaters"  are  splendid  and  well-contrasted 
examples  of  strains  as  melodious  as  they  are  well 
sustained.  Many  shorter  lyrical  poems,  especially  suit- 
able to  be  set  to  music,  are  given  here  and  there  in 
"•The  Princess  "  and  in  the  "  Idylls  of  the  King."  Of 
lyrical-narrative  poems,  "  The  Day-Dream,"  "  CEnone," 
"  The  Talking  Oak,"  "  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere,"  and 
"  The  Lord  of  Burleigh  "  are  beautiful  specimens.  The 
narrative  class  includes  (besides  myths  of  "  The  Round 
Table")  "Enoch  Arden,"  "Dora,"  and  "The  Gardener's 
Daughter  " — the  last  a  very  beautiful  love-story. 

The  Poet's  political  tones,  which  may  be  called  con-. 


228  ENGLISH   POETS. 

servative  and  progressive,  are  distinctly  heard  in  many 
of  his  poems ;  especially  in  one  beginning  with  the 
words  "  Love  thou  thy  land."  In  his  meditative  verse, 
as  in  songs  and  stories,  his  moral  tones  are  noble  and 
chivalrous.  His  richly  imaginative  diction  mostly  bears 
a  stamp  so  clearly  individual  that  imitations  of  his 
manner  are  very  readily  detected.  A  predominant  use 
of  good  and  strong  Old  English  words  "that  go  straight 
to  men's  heads  and  hearts ;"  the  use  of  graphic  adjec- 
tives and  correct  metaphors ;  a  force  like  that  of  fervid 
Hebrew  Poetry  in  employing  bold  words  and  bold  tran- 
sitions ;  a  want  of  repose,  here  and  there,  in  long-sus- 
tained strains  of  lyrical  enthusiasm  and  declamation  : — 
these  are  prominent  traits  of  the  Poet's  diction.  Its 
melody,  in  the  songs  especially  adapted  to  be  set  to 
music,  can  hardly  be  surpassed. 

A  few  satirical  poems,  mostly  occasional  and  defensive, 
may  be  noticed  as  expressions  of  energy  in  denunciation, 
of  which  still  more  remarkable  examples  are  given  in 
the  poem  called  "  Sea  Dreams,"  and  in  a  sermon  in- 
cluded in  the  tragic  and  powerful  story  of  "Aylmer's 
Fields." 

To  return  to  the  beginning — "  In  Memoriam  "  is  not 
the  most  powerful,  but  is  the  most  spiritual  and  sympa- 
thetic of  the  author's  writings.  We  are  living  in  an  age 
of  controversies,  when  men  of  manifold  creeds  and 
opinions  are  striving  to  find  "  in  the  proudest  faculty  of 


TENNYSON.  229 

our  nature  "  a  basis  for  "  the  religion  of  humility."  It  is 
high  praise,  when  it  is  said  of  a  Poet,  living  in  the  midst 
of  controversies,  that  his  voice  does  not  "  assist  the 
storm,"  and  it  is  higher  praise  to  say,  he  has  called  our 
minds  away  from  a  noisy  outside  world,  into  a  solitude 
where  we  are  not  alone.1 


1  In  its  first  form,  the  essay  here  concluded  contained  a  consider- 
able number  of  quotations  from  "  In  Memoriam"  and  other  poems. 
But  when  permission  to  reprint  such  excerpts  could  not  be  ob- 
tained, they  were,  of  course,  omitted,  and  several  paragraphs,  thus 
left  disunited,  were  cancelled. 


TOOKS    COURT.    CHANCEKY    LANE. 


CONTENTS. 


5§Op8  NTRODUCTION  

^rl  iSlSl    SHAKESPEARE       

17 
5i 

A.DDISON         

POPE     
GOLDSMITH  

75 
89 
107 

BURNS  

123 

WORDSWORTH      
SCOTT                          .       . 

135 

1  c-j 

BYRON          .       
SHELLEY       .        .        .        .  •     
LONGFELLOW       
FENNYSON    

173 
191 
207 

